


Breathless

by jeong4vr



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Blood, Broken Pairings, F/M, Fainting, M/M, Use of Medical Needles/Syringes, Violence, Vomiting, angst I suppose, dystopia but not really?, implied fucking but you don't get to read it, namjoon is a genius and he's not even a character, self indulgent minseok-loving-jongin fic for everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 18:56:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 40,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6670939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeong4vr/pseuds/jeong4vr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Minseok wasn't there to see the world end generations ago, but now it's falling apart all around him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathless

**Author's Note:**

> The biggest thank you to big sis Ash for betaing and listening to my endless whining, you are the absolute best.  
> An endless hug to Cla for helping me get the ideas rolling at the beginning, even when I told her I'm killing her faves; I promise I love you.  
> To the few but important xiukai friends I have, this is for you! Even if it's not a happy fic, there are soft elements that I hope will balance it out.

Her gaze drifts to the clock on the wall in the living room. 22:47.

She drags her finger across the round switch, the artificial light dimming out and the door closing behind her as makes her way to the bathroom. There's the faint hum of the evening radio (the only one that's allowed to broadcast at this hour) from her bedroom, a female voice complementing the population on another day of excellent work, reminding everyone to not leave home after curfew. From ten on, it's locked doors until the bell rings at five. The reason being the need for preservation of purified air and making sure that the population stays on the same sleeping schedule, maximizing each individual’s ability to work by keeping them energized.

The water runs cold against her flushed face; her fingers trace out her chapped lips before a cough breaks through again, chest heaving as she tries to regain her breath. These past weeks have seen her gradual decline; the doctor's prescribed medicine seems to do nothing but dull her constant headache. 

Reaching out for the bottle on the first shelf below the bathroom mirror, she unscrews the cap and dumps two of the small pills into her palm. She swallows them easily, wrapping her hair up in a ponytail once her hands are free. She turns on the water again, waits until her hands feel cool before trying to ease the warmth at the back of her neck by pressing her palms over the heated skin. When she exits the bathroom she flicks the lights off.

There's a ring on her left thumb — she can't remember where she got it or why she still has it. She only keeps it on out of habit. It's a procedure; every night she touches the metal and closes her eyes, thinking of the months before that specific moment only to find nothing. Her fingertips dig into the scar on the back of her neck when she makes her way into the bedroom, turns off the radio and slips the ring off her finger, watching the light catch on the smooth metal surface. 

Careful not to make any loud noises, she slips the ring off and stashes it away in the small wooden box in one of the drawers on her desk, locks it up with a click. The fever is already rising, far worse than the barely noticeable warmth that has been accumulating in her body over the past days. Her throat is dry, water barely helping even after she has downed another full glass.

She slips down underneath the covers, shuffles around trying to find a comfortable position. Her chest aches, shoulders tense. With the time between her coughing fits growing shorter, it only takes a few moments of frustration to pass before she decides to get up again. Her eyes flicker over to the other side of the room and her footsteps seem obnoxiously loud when as she shuffles out of the bedroom again, returning to the kitchen after flicking the dimmer switch just enough to make out the furniture in the room. 

Out of habit, she reaches for the containers of little tea bags lined up neatly in the closest cabinet, accidentally slamming the cabinet door shut loudly. The door slides open, her head jerking up in surprise when the light from the corridor outside washes in. She puts down the cup in her hand, the smell of burnt sugar wrecking her thoughts and she moves forward until her limbs feeling light and her mind at ease.

It’s nice not having to breathe.

 

***

 

The lights in the room are barely turned on. Minseok can only make out a couch, a low table and what looks like frames on the wall from where he stands. It's a typical look, most of the living quarters structured the same way out of convenience. Whether that convenience was intended for the population or for himself and the others, it doesn't really matter at this point. Most personal of all, what sets this home apart from the rest of those he's been in are the photographs. 

Minseok gets his hands on those first, the shadow a step behind him diverging from his path to move into the kitchen. The heavy smell of sugar stings at first, once he removes the mask secured around his head, covering up the lower half of his face. His fingers dig into the backsides of the picture frames, removing them from their places on the wall one by one with little trouble. The frames in his hands pile up as he covers the stretch of the wall, turning the light-switch wheel at the end of it until there's enough brightness in the room for him to be able to see the pictures’ subjects. It's crucial to not miss anything, any hint, open any possibility for questioning.

"Is she asleep?" Minseok asks, still keeping his back to the other person who had reentered the living room. He goes through the photos, letting his backpack slide from his shoulder when he crouches down on the floor before letting it drop. His eyes drift over the familiar faces — at the back of his head, he thinks he might have seen them before. It wouldn't be surprising. Picking out the ones they need to discard, he ends up with only a lone photo of a girl. After studying it for a moment, he shrugs and stuffs it into the bag with the rest of the photographs. It's better to get rid of it.

"It took a little longer than expected," the other voice murmurs when he stands up, pointing his thumb towards the sofa where the woman's body had been placed carefully. Jongdae raises his hand, patting himself at the back of the neck, right where the needle is always pushed through the skin. "Turns out she's already been through the procedure. I’d bet a husband or boyfriend." Minseok already knew this. Even if the pictures on the wall wouldn't tell him, there's evidence of their time together still stuck in those frames. 

"Jongdae," he says. Gesturing towards the short hallway that he knows will lead to a small bathroom and a single bedroom. "Go check the bedroom, we're not done yet." Jongdae eyes him, then nods and moves on — there's still another person, another name mentioned during the message sent out earlier that day. If they want to get this done within the hour, they can't afford to waste any time. Or have the second person wake up. That had happened once, when he was fresh out of school, the greenling of the team, and he never wanted to experience it again.

The door pushes open and Jongdae moves forward without hesitation while Minseok himself strays towards the desk at the corner of the room. He raises his gaze to where Jongdae is bent over the occupied bed, a small form wrapped in blankets there and snoring softly. It only takes a small dose for the children to fall asleep, and stay asleep, long enough for them to be done. The smell of sugar is already fading out, Jongdae tilting the child's body forward, tools already in his hand and the needle balanced between two of his fingers. 

The small alcohol-soaked patch sweeps over the skin, and it takes around a minute for the injection of faint blue liquid to dip into the skin before Jongdae is pulling the needle out and putting it back into the bag for disposal. Jongdae takes the girl into his arms carefully, throwing a look in Minseok’s direction when he passes him by and nods in the direction of the door.

"Got all of it?" Jongdae questions, and Minseok's eyes fall to the wooden box in his hands, clicking it open with practiced ease. He only takes the important things: the ring hidden within the box, the photograph on the walls, years’ worth of documents. 

He replies to Jongdae's question with a murmured “yes” and hears him leave the room as he gathers the last object and returns to the living room. 

They'll send someone else to clean up the apartment completely within the same night, that wasn't part of their job description. Minseok and Jongdae just pick out what appears to be personal items, leave them in the livingroom. Still, back when Minseok started, their sole task had been to handle the bodies, not all of the inventory that came with them. The change had been frustrating and unwelcome, but his group leader at the time had told him to just accept it.

"We’re still on schedule," Minseok mutters. "Nothing out of the ordinary. The second team will get all of it burnt or sorted while we're still at the upper levels. Let's get this over with."

Jongdae cradles the child in his arms — she can't be more than a few years old- four? Five? It's easy to get lost in the numbers, in the statistics, and see past the fact that the things he gathers up and sets aflame had value to someone, once. That's why Minseok is good at his job, he doesn't stop to think, to consider. He walks up to the couch, hands already taking out the second type of needle he keeps in the outer pocket of his backpack. 

The plastic bag is sealed tightly, the little bottle of clear liquid fitting nicely in his hand once he pushes the needle past the thin silver barrier at the top of the bottle. Minseok soaks it up so he can inject it into the side of the woman's throat. Her pulse flutters underneath his fingertips and then he pulls away, repeating the process Jongdae went through before: needle in the bag along with the bottle, then put it back in the bag. He lifts her up, feels the warmth of her body drain away — past the fever, past the pain. The door out of the small living quarter opens by his touch, the action slightly difficult with her weight in his arms.

It takes them a good ten minutes move up, even with the elevator available for their use. They get off right below the Scope, just a few levels underneath, and are greeted by transporter staff — a white stretcher placed out for use. Jongdae holds onto the little girl even when the elder hands over the lady, arms feeling light and only slightly aching.

"I'll take her up," Jongdae says when he turns to him. "You go back. I'll be fine on my own." 

“Thank you, Jongdae,” Minseok replies with gratitude. After sending one of the workers a last look, Minseok steps back into the elevator, leaving the other man to take the girl to the lower floors. He gives a respectful greeting to all of the white-clothed workers walking around hurriedly, still in full action despite the late hour.

 

Minseok might not remember people’s names or their families, but he always remembers the feeling in his gut when he carries a body in his arms. A body of someone he knows won’t wake up.

 

***

 

**Floor E, square 5020.**

The living quarters for section E are located a floor higher than Minseok's own apartment, the corridors bright when he steps off the staircase. Jongin had still been curled up cozily on their bed when Minseok left, the younger spending his rare day off by sleeping in, and he couldn’t bring himself to disturb him (only appreciates the ruffled hair and faint trace of drool on Jongin’s bottom lip).

Saturday mornings often leave the hallways devoid of sound and empty, whoever's working early hours already holed up in their offices or designated work areas — Scope bugs, passers and technicians often taking up the bigger part of that percentage. Minseok appreciates the silence, the impeccable tidiness of it: the plain walls, simple lights, straight lines. There's a comfort in knowing that everything will always stay the same, nothing will change the set structures of their home.

Lu Han and Yixing are expecting him despite the lack of communication the past days; Yixing's overwhelming schedule has left both Lu Han and Minseok with fewer words than ever. It's worrying on its own that such a drastic change would be necessary, considering the careful nature of their society. But with Yixing's quiet temper there's no possibility of him opposing the authorities on that subject — it's not worth the risk of being dismissed for lashing out, and they all know it.

"Jongin's not with you?" Lu Han asks, black hair without its normal shine and heavy bags underneath his eyes. He still lets on a smile, Yixing looking over his shoulder before raising his hand in a greeting, adding a "good morning" once Minseok steps inside. He shakes his head, pushing his boots off his feet.

"Sound asleep. This week's taken a toll on him," while he speaks, his eyes drift to Yixing's; his statement is as much about his own boyfriend as Lu Han’s husband. The blond reaches out, fingers skimming over Yixing’s neck before stilling on his shoulder.

"We know exactly what you mean," he mutters, the bitterness in his voice not concealed at all. He follows up with something in Chinese, eyes locked with Yixing's before the younger of the two drifts away towards the kitchen.

"The adoption papers came in yesterday evening," Lu Han speaks up, suddenly going quiet. Minseok lifts his eyebrows, wonders why they didn't contact him earlier; for the past years, he can't remember a time when Lu Han wasn't talking about children. Whether it's the ones he takes care of at his job or just the idea of having one of his own, it seemed like a constant topic. 

Minseok has known Lu Han since childhood years, can read him as easily as he can Jongin.  
"What did they say? Good news?" And he shouldn't have to ask, not when he already knows. He could have spared Lu Han the need to answer him, let it go with another "I'm sorry for you."  
There's a look on Lu Han’s face that Minseok has seen before — an added weight to his shoulders, fingers trembling. He expects the faint smile from Lu Han before he even sees it.

"We were denied. Again." His voice quivers, lips pursed together in what's not anger but disappointment. He's seen it twice before, every time Lu Han and Yixing file into the System's adoption center in hope of taking in a child, a kid to raise and love. His thoughts briefly flash to a young girl, a needle pressed into her neck. Minseok can't imagine any couple who'd be more fitting to nurture that child, but the decision doesn't lie in his hands. 

Lu Han takes a sip from the cup in his hand, gestures for Minseok to follow him into the kitchen where Yixing has already prepared some tea for Minseok as well. Minseok thanks him with a nod, taking a seat by the kitchen table. There's some rustling behind him, Yixing's soft voice speaking in Chinese rapidly — something they don't want to share, something only for Lu Han. Then a packet of paper is planted before Minseok, a white contrast against the wooden surface with bold, black text printed in neat paragraphs.

"Can I...?" He begins, thumb grazing the edge of the papers before he slips his fingers underneath them, feeling the weight in his hand. Lu Han gestures for him to go on just as Yixing slips away, cup left empty in the sink. Minseok's gaze drops to the document in his hands, flips them open to the first page.

There's nothing new. Nothing different from the last time — Lu Han is just as quiet, watching over his shoulder. The words are just as apathetic, just as small.

_We're sorry to inform you that your request has been denied. No further procedures will take place. You are welcome to reapply to the adoption center after another six months have passed._

The text stretches on for another five pages, snippets of Lu Han's and Yixing's personal evaluations quoted in cursive text.

Something catches his eye under the minor title _Zhang Yixing: Health Evaluation_ , and his hands go stiff. Minseok knows Lu Han is keeping an eye on him, even with the way he's curled in on himself, seemingly lost in thoughts, so he closes the packet of papers and holds them out for Lu Han to take.

"Is he..." Minseok follows up, tries to fit the right words onto his tongue. "Yixing- is he okay?"

Part of Minseok wants Lu Han to lie to him. Minseok's never been good with these things — being positive, brightening someone's day. If Lu Han was to tell Minseok that they're both doing fine, that they're sad but at least they’re healthy, then Minseok could let the worries slip off his shoulders the way the artificial rain does in the garden dome.

"No," Lu Han says. Head turning in the direction of his and Yixing's shared bedroom. "You read it, right? Insomnia caused by nightmares, potential danger to his work environment, all of that bullshit. Ever since they started adding these long hours to his and the other technicians’ work schedules he's barely been able to catch a break, much less get proper hours of sleep." 

When he looks at Minseok, it's with anger. Something that's been stashed away beneath Lu Han's gentle face is unfolding at a rapid rate. "Do you know what it's like to wake up to the person you love, seeing him—"

Lu Han takes a deep breath, puts down his cup. "He'll wake up time and time again, drenched in cold sweat and rambling. He'll go on about the nightmares he has for hours, sometimes. Even when I manage to calm him down, make him drink a glass of water and take some sleeping pills, he'll hold onto me as if he's afraid I'll just vanish."

He lifts his head when Yixing steps out from the bedroom, shuffling forward with a backpack slung over his shoulder. The man's full name is neatly printed over his chest in white letters, and Yixing presses a kiss to Lu Han's temple before patting Minseok's shoulder.

"It's temporary," Yixing insists, and Minseok know that he's saying that just to try to comfort Lu Han. The elder of the two squeezes Yixing's upper arm. "Don't give me that look, Lu Han. Things will calm down soon, and I promise I'll stop by the hospital during lunch break to get those pills, okay?" He waits, eyebrows raised and fingers linking transiently with Lu Han's before he finally gives in. 

Lu Han sighs, thumb rubbing over the back of Yixing's hand. "Just make sure you eat properly, too. If you feel faint, tell someone. Promise me."

There's a strain to Yixing's voice when he replies, hand still in Lu Han's, "I promise."

Yixing waves good bye, and Minseok rests his head on his palm, ankles crossing underneath the table. "He'll take care of himself, Lu Han. Yixing isn’t reckless, you know that. Just give this some time and it'll sort itself out."

It doesn't take a genius to figure out that Lu Han can't really accept what he says. He sinks down in the chair opposite to Minseok's, tapping his fingers against the table.

"What if we don't have time?" Lu Han settles back and the elder's gaze is fleetingly drawn towards the clock on his wrist, the glaring numbers in a bright red that lets him know he has just another thirty minutes before his shift will start.

Minseok admits it only to himself, that he wishes he knew what Lu Han meant by that. Is Yixing's condition worse than they're letting on? "Trust Yixing, Lu Han. He'll be okay,"  
maybe it's a bit of a hit below the belt, to use Yixing's name in that way. But Minseok has known Lu Han long enough to be sure of the fact that nothing good comes from his habit to get stuck in his uneasiness. He hopes that he's right, that the younger won't torment himself all day as soon as Minseok leaves.

"I have to leave now, but get some rest before your shift starts. I think both you and Yixing are in need of some proper quiet time.” He gets up, about to wash the mug in the sink only to have Lu Han take it off his hands. 

"I'll take care of that. You get going,” he murmurs, and Minseok puts his hand over the other man's.

"I'm serious, Lu Han. Don't drive yourselves forward until you hit a wall. You'll regret it."

Lu Han's nod doesn't give him much comfort.

 

Minseok doesn't hear from them for another five days, Jongin taking his hand once he has returned home and telling him that just like all others, they must be busy. He has to trust his own words — Lu Han and Yixing will be fine, these days of silence don't mean that Yixing has gotten worse. Still, when he finally hears from Lu Han again, there's a sense of relief that washes over him. Jongin tells him "told you so," later, palm brushing over the elder’s arm, and Minseok allows the warmth to strip him off any other thoughts for the night.

 

***

 

Minseok's already by the door when Lu Han arrives, leaning against the wall and dressed in his gardener's outfit. The brown fabric of his pants is stained by dirt at the knees, gloves fastened to the belt wrapped around his hips — it's just after three in the afternoon, Minseok's break giving him two hours to spend while the others look after the new apprentices the garden dome had taken in. It happens every year, the greenlings being given a chance to work the full hours the other workers are already so used to doing, granting the seniors a few chances to catch a breath every now and then in their schedule they wouldn't have had otherwise.

"Did I keep you waiting?" Lu Han asks, looking neater in his teacher uniform than Minseok ever will despite the remainder of colorful crayon on his hands and t-shirt. He notices the other's eyes on the splashes of color and chuckles. "The kids decided I'm as nice to draw on as paper. They outnumbered me, I didn't stand a chance."

Minseok laughs along, eyes going soft. "No, I just got here a few minutes ago. Sorry for the appearance, but all my clean clothes are at my room, I didn't think to bring any." He brushes his palm over his dirtied pants.

Lu Han nods, already turned towards the slightly protruding square in silver next to his apartment door. He reaches out for the identification lock, fingertip pressed against the flat screen that flashes twice before clicking so that Lu Han can push the door open. They're designed to only open for the residents of the home, top security prepared just in case. There's been no intentional killings in over a decade, but the scars run deep and the fear even deeper; safety will always be the priority, no matter your occupation or home.

Minseok takes Lu Han's place, holding the door open for him when they enter, eyes flickering down to the watch on his ORD — it had clicked suspiciously earlier, Jongdae's voice tuning in for a moment. All he can do is hope it doesn't go off in the middle of their conversation, and that Jongdae had gotten his earlier notice not to disturb him. He listens in for sounds of anyone else, but just like the last time he visited Yixing's voice can't be heard and his jacket isn't hanging from the rack on the wall.

"I understand, don't worry." Lu Han grants him a smile, putting down his bag next to the door while brushing off Minseok's comment with a wave of his hand. "Did you eat lunch? We have leftovers from yesterday if you're hungry. Yixing won't make it back though, he's doing extra hours again." The way Lu Han's voice trails off, worry fraying at the edges, has Minseok reaching out to pat his shoulder. It's slightly awkward, Minseok attempting to bring what little bit of comfort he can to Lu Han's mind even though he knows that right now it's pointless.

"I came here to talk to you. About what you said the last time, with Yixing's nightmares. Are they still occurring regularly?" Minseok feels the need to breach the topic, especially with the way Lu Han's eyes are heavy and his shoulders seem tense. He knows this pattern, this behavior. Sitting down on the couch, Lu Han looks straight ahead at first — searching for his own answer, somewhere along the white walls, the pictures, the lack of life. Minseok sinks down next to him, doesn't speak up again but waits until Lu Han finally leans back, head tilted to meet the elder's gaze.

"I don't know why it's like this," he says. Lu Han's eyes drop down, watches his own hands entwine, dragging gently over the thin metal ring on his left finger. It's been there for years, so long that Minseok barely remembers a time when Lu Han didn't wear it. "I know he's not doing it on purpose. Working so much, that is. But it's too much, Minseok. These past weeks he's barely gotten any sleep as it is, and I wake up to find him in cold sweat and trembling. Frankly, I'm terrified for him, of what might happens if he keeps straining himself like this. He asked if it would be possible to cut out a few hours a week, just get a short break, but the entire team is on full schedule." 

Lu Han runs his palm against his cheek, trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes before pushing at his bangs. The increase in work hours lately had been common not only in Yixing's field, but Minseok had heard from Jongdae that the majority of the work force down at the Pass center had their designated work hours increased, however Minseok doubted that this fact would lead to any relief for Lu Han.

"Lu Han," Minseok lets his hand fall on Lu Han's head, brushing across the dark strands of hair. "Take good care of Yixing, and it'll all work out, alright? Make sure he gets some sleep tonight — you still have those sleeping pills from last month, right? Try them again." He looks at the watch on his ORD again, then pulls away with a faint smile on his lips. He needs to do this, for Lu Han, for Yixing, even if the past weeks have shown him no signs of their situation improving. Maybe part of it is just him being selfish, wanting to get rid of the bitter taste on his tongue, the knowledge of what comes after distractions and a lack of performance.

"Yes, I'll do that. We'll try. He's the...the best thing that's ever happened to me, Minseok." Lu Han's voice is still quavering, thick in a way that Minseok knows from all those times he's seen him cry — bright, caring Lu Han who smiles so gently even when there's no need for him to. Meanwhile Minseok is sharp words and midnight runs, the smell of oranges and burnt sugar. "Thank you. I know this probably isn't the most pleasant way to spend your free time." There's a grin tugging at the corners of his lips that doesn't quite show, but Minseok thinks that for now, that's enough. They'll be fine — Lu Han and Yixing will be fine.

"You are pretty depressing," Minseok agrees with a teasing tone to his voice, and he even manages to coax out a laugh from Lu Han when the younger shuffles over on the couch to pinch his upper arm playfully even when Minseok fakes a whine of pain. "You don't need to thank me Lu Han, I'd never forget you or your ridiculously adoring husband."

Lu Han leans back, that laughter still lingering on his face in the way his eyes slim in joy and Minseok treasures the fact that for a moment, he can make some of the worry go away. He can't chase it to the ends of the earth, or even the ends of the room, can't burn it — but he can dull it the way Yixing's medicines dull his dreams.

"Come back soon, will you? Whenever the next gap in your schedule is." Lu Han is resting his face against his palm, exhaustion already creeping back into his eyes. Minseok wonders if he will sooner than that.

The abrupt sound of the door opening causes them both to jerk their heads up, Yixing's figure stepping inside. Minseok throws a look in Lu Han's direction, obviously as surprised as he is to see the other back at that hour. It doesn't take long before Lu Han is out of his spot on the couch, crossing the room in hurried steps, his hands coming up to cup Yixing's face. They murmur back and forth in Chinese, and what little Minseok knows of the language doesn't serve him any help at the speed they're talking. 

Yixing's eyes are closed, Lu Han's palm still against his face before one slips down rest over his heart, brows pushed together in concern. In the bright light of the living room, Yixing seems unusually pale, lips pursed together tightly. If he was well, he wouldn't be there, Minseok knows that much. The fact that he's been sent back (Yixing is not the type of man to willingly abandon his position unless absolutely necessary) is enough of a cause to worry, and not only for Lu Han. Had he been smoothing over his physical complications? Minseok doesn't think he has any right to ask, but he hopes that Yixing will at least be honest with Lu Han.

"Minseok, could you come back at another time?" Lu Han stresses, and even if he tries to sound calm, his voice gives him away. Getting up on his feet, the eldest heads towards the door without questions, gaze locked with Yixing's when he passes and once the younger man finally opens his eyes. Minseok's not sure if it's gratitude he sees, but he doesn't stay long enough to find out. 

"Get well, Yixing," he murmurs in the haste of it. There's a nod, and then Minseok is out the door, hearing rushed footsteps from the other side before he walks away.

He's already heading down the stairs to return to the garden dome, choosing to skip the elevators (they're often occupied at these hours) when Jongdae's voice buzzes into tune from his ORD. "Minseok?"

Replying with a low "Yes?" Minseok lets him know he's listening.

"Meet up at floor B, and you better get your ass down here quickly, because this one will take some time to settle with."

 

***

 

Minseok's already by the door when Lu Han arrives, leaning against the wall and dressed in his gardener's outfit. The brown fabric of his pants is stained by dirt at the knees, gloves fastened to the belt wrapped around his hips — it's just after three in the afternoon.

"Did I keep you waiting?" Lu Han asks, looking neater in his teacher uniform than Minseok ever will. Minseok's eyes settle on Lu Han's face, the faint smile trailing his lips. There's a look of relief on him, a glint of shallow joy in his eyes.

"No, I just got here a few minutes ago. Sorry for the appearance, but all my clean clothes are at my room, I didn't think to bring any." The elder replies, brushing his palm over his dirtied pants. Lu Han nods, already turned towards the slightly protruding square in silver next to his apartment door. He reaches out for the identification lock, fingertip pressed against the flat screen that flashes twice before clicking so that Lu Han can push the door open.

"I came to talk to you, about—" Minseok stops, and Lu Han lifts his eyebrows, waiting for the rest of the sentence. 

"You came to talk to me about...?" He closes the door behind them, still waiting for an answer when the elder just shakes his hand, one hand lifted as if to wave away what he had said.

"It's nothing," Minseok settles down on the couch, fingers sliding over the screen of his ORD. Lu Han scowls, definitely not convinced by Minseok's attempt to smoothen over whatever he had in mind.

"You didn't come visit me just for nothing," he says back, clearly intrigued by Minseok's willingness to hold his tongue. "Did something happen?" Lu Han leans in, curiosity in his eyes. 

"I was just wondering if you still have that book you were talking about a few weeks ago. You said it was great so I stopped by to see if I could borrow it." Minseok makes a small gesture towards the many books Lu Han has collected — some of them from hundreds of years ago, rewritten in neater format, many of them censored.

"Oh," Lu Han walks away to one of the book shelves, looks around for a minute before pulling out a thick paperback book. The cover's black with golden details, but Minseok doesn't look over it further when Lu Han hands it over to him. "Don't rush reading it just to give it back to me quickly, I'm making my way through something else right now."

"Thanks," Minseok puts the book in his bag, adding a smile just for the looks of it. "Did you get some sleep?" The younger busies himself with some papers — eyes skimming over the text quickly. 

"Mhm," Lu Han hums in reply, folding the edge of the sheets before waving them for Minseok to see. "Daily reports, you know," he explains. "And yeah, I feel so...refreshed? As if I've slept for days." He laughs, sinking down in the seat next to Minseok.

"I received a message earlier today while at work," Lu Han speaks up as he rubs his left ring finger absentmindedly. "Seems like the system plans on downgrading me, all of a sudden. I mean, in all honesty I was expecting this to happen sooner. But once it hit me all I feel is disappointment that I have to leave. Having this much space to myself has been the best thing to ever happen to me." He takes a final overview on the documents in his hand before stuffing them back in his thin bag, name tag sewn onto the front of it neatly.

"You've been pretty lucky, I agree. At least up until now. " Leaning over with a grin on his face, Minseok pinches the younger's cheek. "I guess a pretty face really gave you some advantages." With an acted look of shock, Lu Han throws a soft punch against Minseok's arm, pulling away from him before the older man can take revenge.

"The system's just generous. It has nothing to do with my face. They placed me here because of my excellent work, that is the only possibility." He retorts, leaning back against the couch's armrest. "I plan on forcing you and Jongin to assist me with the move, I don't have enough muscle power to carry all this stuff on my own. It would take an eternity, and I definitely don't have one." 

Minseok shrugs — it wouldn't be the first time he'd helped Lu Han move out. "I'll call some friends, we'll help you out." He cups his own cheek with his hand, elbow resting on his knee.

"But I can't help but think this place..." Lu Han murmurs, eyes drifting to the few photos on his wall — of them, of Lu Han only, of his family. "It feels empty." He turns to Minseok. "Kind of stupid, right? I've been living here for years, and I'm still all alone." He points towards the bedroom door. "I don't need a double bed or empty space or... This. It's probably for the better."

Minseok gives it a thoughtful nod. "I'm sure you'll like your new place just fine. Get some plants, maybe even go a bit crazy and get a cat. Then, or at least soon enough, someone will come along to sweep you off your feet." The younger seems to take it to heart, because the look in his eyes goes away — that bitterness, the edge. 

"It would be a bit out of the blue, right? Getting a cat? I've only seen maybe four people with one." Lu Han shifts in his seat, letting his foot rest on his thigh instead of the floor. "I think I'll start with a plant. Like a cactus."

The sudden bleep of the radio on the ORD stops him, Minseok's eyes going to Lu Han. "Excuse me." He clicks the small button on the side of the clock; "Lu Han's with me," he hurries to say before the caller can say anything.

"Your shift's been re-scheduled, please be at your station within twenty minutes."

It's a male voice, not Jongdae but one he knows almost as well. Minseok's mouth goes dry — if his shift has been moved forward, that usually means he'll be taking a night shift. No wonder Jongdae had tried to contact him on his way to Lu Han earlier. 

"Noted." He answers, letting go of the button once the voice on the other side has him confirmed. He turns back to his friend, pushing himself off the couch at the same time. "I have to go, Lu Han. Contact me when you have any more information on your move, alright? If I'm not answering just leave a message."

"Got it," Lu Han sees him off by the door. "Don't overwork yourself."

Minseok doesn't think he's worthy of the concern, but he walks away without any lingering regret.

 

***

 

Minseok enjoys the view of the projected sky in the garden dome. He's never seen an actual sky, but he can imagine what it would feel like to look at something endless with the slowly drifting clouds overhead. The ones that darken at times to spit down faux rain across selected sections of the dome. He hadn't received any further calls from Jongdae, only contacted Jongin once he arrived at his section that he'd be late. The orange tree's branches drop down, splashes of orange standing out against the shifting greens of that specific section of the garden dome. 

Minseok has been working in the C section for the past four years — unlike his early years where he had been moved around throughout every section in order to find one where he'd perform the best. He prefers the more silent C over most of the others. F is always busy, a larger number of workers always present to harvest faster-growing foods. A is so thick with plants most of the time he spent trying to just move forward.

Out of all the places on the Inside, the garden dome is without a doubt the one most alive. Not with loud, visible movement of people and voices, like in the hospital area or the schools. It's a slow pulse, a low hum of insects and rare sights of birds crossing the fake sky (maybe it's a glitch, Minseok rarely sees live birds). Maybe that's the comfort of it — everything that surrounds him lives on.

He's in the middle of placing the oranges in the assigned baskets (to be placed at the back of a pick-up vehicle that comes around every four hours) when his black ORD clicks. A yellow light is lit up for five seconds exactly, a signal Minseok knows by heart. There's no voice this time, instead the square that displays the current time switches to black, thick letters appearing on the small screen:

 **Floor E, square 5020. Individual —** >

A name in bright yellow is listed followed by minor information like occupation, age and physical appearance. Then the names increase, this time in white, rolling by like the credits of one of those movies. They move only fast enough for Minseok to catch a glimpse of them, but that's enough. The names decrease in size, the black sized into a tiny square at the upper corner of his watch, now displaying the time again. If he wishes to look over it again, all he needs to do is press the black space. 

He has seen longer lists, with tens and tens of names that requires a full night. But this one is simple, short enough for Minseok to memorize the individuals with one look only. It's more of a relief than not.

 

***

 

He shouldn't be drinking a luxury like coffee in the middle of the night, but Minseok just needs to do something. He can't fall asleep, so he resorts to flipping through an old book from one of the shelves in the living room, not reading the words as much as just looking at them. The bitter shot of coffee is enough to have him distracted, to have him not think about other things, other _people_. Once he'd gotten back from his shift, the lights in the hallways were already turned off, leaving him to navigate with the small flashlight tucked into his belt.

Jongin was already asleep, curled up and with a note about leftovers from dinner placed on the kitchen table. Minseok doesn't eat, instead opts for circling around the apartment until he finds himself in the kitchen, then the living room.

People’s deaths are so simple in the books he read. There's no red blood, no fading into silence, no heavy body to carry off. These are paper deaths and word wraiths that go away once the book is shut. They don't stay in people's hearts — there are no spaces for them to fill. Instead they die every time the book is unfolded and live over every line. They're not real deaths.

Minseok hears his steps before Jongin has even entered the room, clad in boxers and with sleepy eyes. Minseok holds out his arms, and it's so easy. Jongin fits perfectly in his arms, head on Minseok's shoulder and face buried against his throat. They shift closer, Minseok leaning back before carding his fingers through Jongin's dark hair, rubs his fingertips against the short strands at the back of his neck. He lets out a heavy breath, feels the weight on his shoulders disappear and he knows he won't think about them again. He'll never see them again.  
They never existed.

"Why are you up?" Jongin asks him, leaning back just enough to let his thumb sweep over Minseok's jaw and Minseok knows he can feel the stubble beginning to grow. "It's in the middle of the night. You need to rest." The elder puts his hand over Jongin's, leans into the touch.

"Couldn't sleep," he just says, twisting to press a kiss against the palm of his boyfriend's hand. Jongin just puts his arms around Minseok, reeling him in so that the elder can lean his head against his chest, eyes closing.

"Come back to bed with me. You don't have to sleep, just rest. Close your eyes, relax a little," he massages Minseok's shoulder with his free hand, pulling at his hand. "You need it."

"In a bit," the elder responds, the book still in his hand with his thumb stuck between the pages. "You can go sleep. I'll be right there." With his free hand he strokes across Jongin's cheek, their eyes meeting. Jongin shakes his head and catches his hand, wraps his own around it.

"You need rest more than I do, and the bed gets cold without you." Planting a soft kiss on Minseok's temple, Jongin slides back into his arms. "I don't want you sitting out here again."

It's not their first time — Jongin finding Minseok there, buried in some make-believe land of a book, or just staring at the wall. He knows he wonders, can see Jongin with unspoken questions in his eyes, ones he keeps to himself. If Minseok wants to share his reasons, if he finds it necessary, then he will.

"Minseok," Jongin's voice is reassuring, and Minseok places the book on the table, lets himself be led back to their bedroom. Jongin indulges him in his warmth, fingers tracing out the back of Minseok's head, slipping down to follow the edges of his shoulder blades. "Close your eyes," Jongin murmurs, and Minseok listens. He moves his hand down Minseok's waist, squeezes his hip before tangling their legs together.

"Who's Lu Han?" Jongin asks then, and Minseok's eyes fly open, staring right back at him.

"What?" he asks cautiously, covering Jongin's hand on his waist with his own. Shrugging, the younger edges forward just a bit, their foreheads almost touching. 

"You mumbled Lu Han-something when I walked in. Who is it?"

Minseok flees then, closes his eyes and lets the soft lull of Jongin's voice and the heat of his body be all he knows. "He's a character from the book. Made lots of dumb mistakes, I suppose I might have voiced my frustration." He murmurs and shrugs, can feel Jongin's fingers run down his back again, fingertips just barely pressing into the skin. It feels so nice, to be enveloped by the only person that matters, as if there's really nothing but them.

"Alright," Jongin answers, not sounding quite convinced. He doesn't pursue it, just continues mapping Minseok's body out until he drifts off, arm thrown over Minseok's frame. Minseok doesn't know how long he keeps his eyes closed wishing for dreams, but when he wakes up he's still in Jongin's arms and figures they wouldn't be worth much compared to that.

 

Morning greets them loudly, alarms going off and Minseok groans before rolling over onto his back. "I'm so tired," he complains, and Jongin just laughs at him, hand smoothing down Minseok's stomach. 

"You were up too late," he says back, a teasing smile on his mouth and Minseok kisses it off. 

"Thank you," he adds when they separate, "for taking care of me." 

Jongin gives him a smile, scoots closer for a second. "Love you," he whispers, kissing Minseok's cheekbone before giving his hand a squeeze. "And we better get up, even though I'd love to stay in bed all day."

He pushes the covers off and Minseok lifts his hands to rub at his eyes, in the middle of stretching out when Jongin pats him on his chest. "I'll go make breakfast, so get your ass out of bed." Minseok grabs after him, wanting to pull Jongin down with him for just another minute of cuddling. When the younger walks out of the room, Minseok gets up, whipping out his clean uniform from the closet. He gets his hand on the plastic bottle with his name printed on the paper label, unscrews it before shaking out his daily amount of pills. 

They’re small, round and white; the pills are meant to increase someone’s risk of processing the toxins in their body for a few hours in case an emergency was to happen. If toxins were to infest a room and he was stuck in it because of a lockdown, then the pills’ said effect would be his only chance to get out alive. The dose varies depending on sex, age, physical condition, and they had begun to be distributed just a few years back. On top of that, they’d received information on doubling the dosage not too long ago. During the first period of time living on the Inside, there weren’t any pills, but soon enough the research was deemed vital and the scientists have been at it ever since. They don’t have a lot of resources to work with, but Minseok would lie if he said he wasn’t impressed, wasn’t grateful.

"Will you make it to dinner tonight?" Jongin asks later, sitting at the edge of a kitchen chair with his ankles crossed. "I was going to tell you yesterday, but as you know that didn't work out. Kyungsoo's stopping by later today." There's definitely excitement in his voice. It's been weeks since either of them as much as heard from Kyungsoo. "I think at least, his plans might change." Jongin adds with some after thought. Kyungsoo has been locked up in the Scope ever since he graduated, and it's not often they receive any calls or messages, much less seeing him over on an actual visit. 

Just like all other scientists, his schedule is more flexible than your average worker's, but Minseok has never heard Kyungsoo say anything along the lines of 'I have time.' They do get a few reports every now and then though, like what he's been up to, a brief comment on what he thinks might be an interesting find. Minseok can't imagine ever doing what he does — sitting up in the Scope, the highest level, and staring at a world that's nothing but ruin. It's been over a hundred years without any major progress, and much like the majority of citizens Minseok has given up on any hope of ever being able to see the Outside.

It's good to know there's at least a few stubborn ones still sticking around, willing to give up any normal life in exchange for days after days of studying the inevitable End. That's what the Scope is for. It's not its actual place, only a nickname made by the public however long ago for the place where the scientists work. They watch over the outside world for signs of humans being able to withstand a life there through testing (exactly how they do what they do has never been made public). Minseok remember towards his final school years, it was revealed that they also investigate the expected lifespan of the Pass and other areas which touch upon the subject of “the end.” It had never been in Minseok's own interest to know all those things, but it as no surprise when Kyungsoo announced his job a few years ago.

"I'll cook then," Minseok says, picking up his small plate. "So that you and Kyungsoo can talk. Sounds good?" He bends down in front of Jongin's chair for a kiss, Jongin tilting his face up enough to press their lips together momentarily. 

"Sounds great," Jongin replies, sinking back down. Turning around towards the living room, the elder goes to grab his bag, left by the sofa last night. He calls out a goodbye from the door, partly visible, before heading out to make it to his daily shift.

He doesn't see Jongin walking to the low table by the sofa, picking up the paper-back book abandoned there. It's dark, a gold-embossed image occupying most of the front, the title printed in the same color. Eyes skimming over the first couple of pages, Jongin flips through them briefly, lips pursing once he reaches the end. He puts it back among the other books on the closest shelf, taking a second look at the title, and then leaves it be.

 

***

 

Minseok returns to Kyungsoo and Jongin sitting on the couch, chatting quietly.

Kyungsoo's still dressed in his all-black outfit, silver band strapped to his wrist with a tiny blinking red light constantly flashing at its side. It's not too far off from Minseok's own ORD, but he doubts they have much in common apart from the standard functions. There's a few versions out there — simpler ones for the average worker, or multi-functioning ones given to the top dogs. System workers, doctors, scientists.

"You're not going to take that call?" he speaks up from the door while taking his shoes off, pushing them to against the other lined up pairs with the side of his foot. "Seems like someone's eager to talk to you," Minseok adds, nodding towards Kyungsoo's hand. His first reaction is to lower his gaze, fingertips momentarily sliding over the side button Minseok knows will connect him to the caller, but instead of pressing it Kyungsoo gives him a smile.

"Minseok," he says, frame turned to face the elder from where he's sitting. "It's been a while." Kyungsoo clicks on another button as he speaks, the red light abruptly ending. "And no, it's not urgent." Minseok wants to ask him how he could possibly know that, but Kyungsoo's sharp tone has him pushing down the urge. It's none of his business.

"How are you doing up at the Scope? Still working endlessly?" he crosses the room, sits down next to Jongin who scoots over to make space for him. Minseok reaches over, squeezing Jongin's hand when the younger leans against his side. "Give us a call at least." The way Minseok says it is teasing, but the look in Kyungsoo's eyes tells him it doesn't matter.

"I'm sorry, I— everyone's been busy. I can't discuss it with you, but there is a magnitude of research work taking place at once right now. My section's calm compared to what the Pass workers are dealing with." Kyungsoo's palm glides over his face, pushing his bangs away only to have them fall back. "There's a bad feeling in the air."

Leaning in, Minseok moves his hand from Jongin's to Kyungsoo's shoulder. "There's something wrong with Pass?" He hadn't heard any of that from Jongdae (who, out of anyone, should know), and the thought makes his gut twist. Kyungsoo looks up suddenly, then shakes his head frantically.

"No, no of course not! If there was, everyone would know about it. The purification system is working smoothly, as always," he insists.

"They'd tell us if there was, right? The System, that is," Jongin asks. Somehow, Minseok feels as if there's more to that question than what it sounds like. Kyungsoo gives him a reassuring nod, hand brushing against Jongin's upper arm before he replies.

"No doubt. They're here for the better of the people, they wouldn't keep something like that from you." Nevertheless the way Kyungsoo excludes himself from them by saying you has Minseok's mind going in a different direction.

"Jongin," Kyungsoo swiftly changes the subject, the troubled look on his face replaced just as quickly. "I was afraid I'd forget to ask, but the students in your class, they are just about to begin immersion rounds, right? I'll be handling the greenlings this year, so I figured it would be best to ask you how many I can expect while I'm over here." Jongin lights up, the way he always seems to do when he gets to talk about his students (Minseok's been subject to listen to his bragging for years now).

"This year... There's a lot less than there usually is. Most of my students have expressed interests in other areas, but the last time I checked in there were two this year who wanted to spend their immersion time up at the Scope." Jongin moves away from the couch. "I'll show you their student files, just give me a second." He walks the length of the room before disappearing around the corner, heading in the direction of the small workroom located next to their bedroom.

"Minseok," Kyungsoo's voice calls his attention, and the elder turns away from the spot where he knows Jongin will appear as soon as he has his hands on those papers. "Trust me on this one. You don't want to know. You, if anyone, should know the importance of secrets." For a moment, Minseok could swear that Kyungsoo knows everything. That in some way, he's been granted that hidden piece of information so vital to their society's core. "I know it's easy to let your imagination run wild, but nothing is wrong. Don't let anyone give you any ideas." Minseok relaxes — there's no way he'd know.

Jongin returns, waving the papers in his hands before plopping down next to Minseok again, in the middle of the couch. "Here, I'll introduce you to who may be your future fellow scope bugs." Kyungsoo's lips twitch when he hears the old nickname, then he leans towards Jongin so that he can look down on the first student file. 

There's a photo attached to the upper corner — he stands out from the usual student crowd with his silver hair and serious expression. His grades are over the top, comments from other teachers praising his skills and leader qualities. Apart from that last part, he's pretty much your average scope bug.

"This is Namjoon," Jongin says, finger tapping against the boy in the photo despite his name being printed in bold, black letters just next to the picture of him. "He's been excellent throughout his entire academic career, even if he's still just a kid. He's fifteen, so this is his last year in my class. He's been insistent on working at the Scope for years, so this really isn't a surprise." He hands the file over to Kyungsoo, who flips over to the next page.

"Oh," He breathes, looking at the specifics of Namjoon's interest. "Pass research?" There's a small section dedicated to where the pupil wants to head in the field, and after reading it through Kyungsoo hands the student document back to Jongin. "It's always good with some new blood in that area, even though I was hoping to bringing in some recruits for my own section. We're shrinking in numbers every year."

It doesn't come as a big surprise to Minseok. The possibility of ever returning back to the Outside is a frightening concept to most of the population, not a sign of hope the way it appears to be to most of the scientists. All that's known for sure about the Outside comes from old textbooks brought with the first generation over a hundred years ago, along with what little has been gathered by scientists like Kyungsoo. Some people claim they've been told things by the generation before them, but the information's never reliable and it's often dismissed.

"Don't worry," Jongin says, pointing towards the second student file. "There's still Taehyung." The second kid turns out to be quite different from the first — he's smiling widely in his picture, and there's something that looks like smudged paint on his jaw. "He excels in the subjects that would qualify him for an education as a Scope scientist — math, history, independent research — but performs at an average in the rest. He has... A lot of imagination."

Jongin hesitates, about to flip over to the next page. "He has an overabundance of energy, to say the least, but he gets along with the other kids well. He’s a team worker, which is important. Taehyung has read more history books than most adults I’ve met- he seems to swallow them up. On top of that, his latest class project really showed promise when it comes to problem solving. I think he’d be good for you up there.” Minseok listens intently, takes note on the way Jongin so effortlessly praises the kid. It’s a quality that makes him a good teacher, that he’ll pinpoint someone’s strengths and encourage them to pursue something that’ll suit that person. 

“He’s creative more than anything, I suppose,” Jongin adds, thumb dragging across the pages of Taehyung’s student file. Kyungsoo stares at the papers, nods thoughtfully and Minseok has a gut feeling he know’s what the younger is thinking — creativity is so important, sought after in any form. "Most people just think he's a weird kid, but in my honest opinion as a teacher, he's as brilliant as Namjoon, just in a different way. Do you think you’ll be fine with just the two of them? Taehyung can be a handful.”

"Of course," Kyungsoo replies quickly. "We discussed next week, four days. Is that still alright for you and the interested students?" Jongin hands Kyungsoo Taehyung’s papers, and the scientist flips through them, skimming over the brief paragraphs of text.

"Yes, I'll make sure to tell them tomorrow. We can decide on the details tomorrow through messaging." Jongin squeeze's Minseok's hand, reminding him of the fact that he's been sitting quiet for quite some time now. "You okay, Minseok?" He looks up, still leaned back against Minseok's chest.

The elder shrugs. "I didn't want to interrupt. Immersion rounds are an important part of education." He lets go of Jongin's hand, turning to Kyungsoo. "You two can continue talking, I'll cook some dinner." Minseok adds a smile, fingers brushing over Jongin's neck when he stands up.

 

He can still hear them over the sizzling of the oil, and at first he attempts to ignore them. Kyungsoo is putting his heart out for Jongin to see and Minseok has no right to listen to any of it, even if he too is Kyungsoo's friend. Despite trying to busy himself with cutting up the vegetables, he can hear the conversation from the living room.

 _"We've never... Fought like this before. I've seen him around and he seems so distressed. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He should have just continued on like always. It's as if he's completely drained of energy. I thought he got all of it out when he yelled at me."_ Kyungsoo's voice sounds rough, as if he's holding something in. Choking on the words.

 _"Kyungsoo,"_ Minseok can hear Jongin clearly, knows the tone he's using. It's the same one he murmurs against Minseok's skin when he finds him up at early hours, eyes blank again. _"What did you tell him?"_

_"I— I told him that I'm sorry, and that I don't think we should talk anymore. I said I need to focus and that he is a distraction. That it would be better for the both of us if we just... stopped everything. Talking, messaging, all of it."_

_"You can't run away from people."_ Jongin’s tone is blunt. _"Did you tell him why? Did you at least let him know why you feel that way?"_

There's a long pause. _"No. I couldn't. You know what Chanyeol is like. He'd try to make me feel better, meet me halfway somehow. I don't want that. I just... I want him to be happy. We both know that I would never have enough time for him. And it's not just that, he—"_  
Another pause, and Minseok realizes he has stopped moving, just staring down at his hands.

_"He doesn't love me, Jongin. I think it's better for the both of us this way. He can focus on Seulgi, on his job. It wouldn't be right of me to burden him with my stress, my own problems."_

_"And you think it's okay for you to make this decision for the both of you?"_

_"It's the only way."_

_"There is never only one way, Kyungsoo. I would know, if anyone."_

_"I'm not one of your students. This is what I want."_

Minseok’s grip on his knife stiffens, fingers still trembling when he lets go. He recollects himself with a deep breath, tense shoulders relaxing and he wills himself to cancel out the noise coming from the living room. It’s obvious — because of the way Kyungsoo’s worn eyes greet them, how his lips only ever quirk up into almost-smiles and how his movements are slow — that he is letting the whole situation get to him. If Jongin can’t cheer him up, rid him of the growing buzz of negativity then sooner or later Kyungsoo will no longer perform up to standard.

And Minseok knows what happens to someone who becomes a burden.

Kyungsoo walks in, Jongin remaining on the couch, and Minseok looks up to meet his gaze.  
“I hope you don't plan on making listening in on private conversations a habit of yours.” Kyungsoo says humorously, leaning against the kitchen counter.

Brushing it off with a shrug, Minseok keeps his back to the younger. He sweeps the vegetables into the bowl with a swift drag of his knife against the cutting board. “You were too loud.”

Minseok can hear him snorting at that while he takes the bowl into his hands, walking to the right of Kyungsoo. “I’ve been around Chanyeol too much. I must have caught some of his excess energy.” 

“I didn’t even know it was possible for him to have excess anything. He never sits still or shuts up.” The elder mutters, reminded of how Chanyeol had visited his section of the garden temporarily just a few years after he himself had finished school. Chanyeol was definitely not gardener material, because at the time he had close to no patience coupled along with the inability to stop talking. Minseok had not enjoyed those days.

“Seulgi… She called me yesterday. She asked me to talk things out with Chanyeol, but there’s nothing to talk about. I told him how I feel, and that won’t change with a puppy look and a bit of yelling.” Despite what he says, Kyungsoo bites his bottom lip. “What do you think?”

There are many things Minseok wants to say. He wants to tell Kyungsoo to discuss these things with Jongin instead, that he’s not a good option if Kyungsoo’s looking for someone to justify what he’s done. “I think you’re being selfish.” He just replies instead. “I know you’re being selfish.” 

Jongin joins them then, and Minseok gives up on a reply. 

 

When Kyungsoo’s gone, has returned to the scope to bury himself in numbers and papers again, Jongin reels Minseok in for a hug. His fingers clench around the back of Minseok’s shirt, holds him right there against his chest. 

“It makes me so sad to see him like that. It’s as if he really doesn’t know what to do anymore.” Jongin murmurs, lips against the side of Minseok’s neck and the elder slips his arms around Jongin’s waist. “When Chanyeol… when he got together with Seulgi, it wasn’t like this at all. Kyungsoo would always cheer them on, and sometimes I wonder if I missed his true feelings back then. I’m the worst.”

Minseok hushes him, strokes his hand comfortingly up his boyfriend’s back before tilting his head to the side to rest against Jongin’s. “At times like these, all we can do isn’t always enough. He’ll get back on his feet. His life is about more than just one person, and he knows that too. Don’t beat yourself up over this. Just be there for Kyungsoo when he comes to you.”

 

***

_“I don’t hate you, Chanyeol.”_

Kyungsoo breathes in stress and lets it eat him up. He allows it to build in layers, ripple over his insides and make them twist until his heart is aching. Chanyeol is not calculated statistics, easy numbers in predicted patterns or papers full of terms he understands. Chanyeol is everything at once, and sometime’s it’s just too much. 

While Kyungsoo grew up between the pages of old books and with an unusual interest in the past, Chanyeol is always with someone, doing something, somewhere. They sat next to each other in class, Kyungsoo with his hand always up in the air, ready with an answer. Meanwhile Chanyeol would lean over in his seat, tapping his fingers annoyingly against Kyungsoo’s neat notes in awe.

Chanyeol had a tendency to touch Kyungsoo’s shoulders, his hands, shuffling closer all while smiling. And Kyungsoo had started thinking that maybe this isn’t the way he is with everyone, Chanyeol, that his grin is just a little wider when directed towards him. 

_“I’m in love.”_

Chanyeol had said, when they had been out of school for a couple of years and Kyungsoo spoke less than ever. He didn't have books, but he had observations — all of the Scope and its research available for his use. So Kyungsoo told himself that it is fine like this, that all of his hopes and expectations should have died down by now. He stuffs a photograph of them away, can’t bring himself to throw it in the trash. Chanyeol had insisted on that one, camera in his hand and face pressed close to Kyungsoo’s. Awkward smiles and terrible lightning.

Kyungsoo falls asleep in his clothes, arm flung over his eyes and his other hand dangling over the edge of the bed. The air's sugary sweet.

He knows Minseok is right about this, that he’s being selfish. That’s alright, this time around. Chanyeol doesn’t need him, and he doesn’t need Chanyeol.

 

***

 

Minseok is not surprised.

He stopped feeling that way years ago, because it’s usually not a question of who but rather when. He had done the best he could, pushed Kyungsoo in what he considered to be the right direction, but sometimes people can’t be saved. Chanyeol is just another one of them. He’ll drown in the digits.

He finds Kyungsoo on his bed, heavily asleep as a side effect of the gas the higher-ups had let out into the room earlier. Once it thins out, Minseok can remove his mask. After instructing Jongdae to look over the kitchen and bathroom, he had walked out of the tiny living room to Kyungsoo’s bedroom. His home is a lot smaller than Minseok would have expected, but at the same time Kyungsoo had told him just a couple of weeks ago that he doesn't need a large apartment since he spends so much time up at the Scope. 

Minseok prepares the injection, presses it quickly through the skin on Kyungsoo’s neck while holding onto him so he won’t fall backwards. He feels light, as if he hasn’t eaten properly, and Minseok suspects that’s exactly the reason. Jongdae enters the room not long after that, immediately moving to go through the tidy desk. 

“Did you already look through the drawers?” The younger man questions, tapping against the plastic surface of the desk. Minseok shakes his head, busy disposing of the needle and bottle in the standard plastic bag while Jongdae goes back to efficiently going through Kyungsoo’s possessions. “Never thought I’d see Chanyeol go.” Jongdae mutters under his breath.

“You knew him?” Minseok’s asks, already accustomed to the past tense he needs to use for whoever’s selected. He’s not actually interested, but he can feel the way Jongdae wants to let it off his shoulders. Let another man just go. As if he’s not already lying on a stretcher just a few floors above, eyes closed. 

Jongdae shrugs. “A little, he’s an old classmate of mine. I’ve seen him around a bit, you know, casual greetings and all that.” Humming, Minseok pulls his backpack on again, reeling Kyungsoo in against his chest so he can lift him up carefully. He’s just one of many people for tonight, but one of those who will take the most time — too many memories, coupled with his undeniable affection. Those are always hard to get rid of, Minseok has overheard.

“Let’s try not to talk about dead people on the job from now on,” Minseok manages to get out, and even if it wasn’t meant to be taken as a joke, Jongdae snorts. It takes the younger of the two another few minutes to finally wrap up inspecting Kyungsoo’s bedroom, picking up and placing in his bag anything that could so much as remind him of Chanyeol. Minseok glances down at Kyungsoo’s faces, sees the heavy bags under his eyes and decides that a long sleep will do him well. He’ll be returned within a day, hopefully without any exhaustion or side effects from the gas left in his body.

Minseok’s ORD beeps in sync with Jongdae’s, informing him that the other team currently out has moved from the drop-off floor and are heading back down to cover another room.  
"Let’s go. We really don't have all night," Minseok is already moving out of the bedroom, Kyungsoo tucked close to his chest without making any sounds. If not for the fact that he's done this before, over and over, he would have been worried that Kyungsoo might actually be dead.

"The next one's Jongin, do you want me to go with you or do I proceed to another individual?" Jongdae's walking right by his side, tapping in the code for the elevator to sink down to their floor. It takes a minute, and when the doors slot open Minseok finally replies.

"I'll be fine on my own, I'm already familiar with where Jongin keeps his things. I should be relatively quick." He doesn't want to hand over Jongin to those white suits. He knows what they do, what they're capable of doing, and he'd prefer to keep his boyfriend as far away from them as possible.

But no one is granted the luxury of safety there.

"Noted, I'll drop off Kyungsoo's items and then we can meet up here once we've covered a room each. We should be done before three," Jongdae suggests, and Minseok agrees. They usually team up, since they don't deal with people living on their own as often as they do families. But in this case, Chanyeol's friends are young and still holed up in the smaller apartments on the lower levels, making it possible for the few teams to split up and go through rooms at a higher speed

The sound of metal on metal and the sharp, clean stench that hits his nose are all familiar as Minseok steps out of the elevator and crosses the first few meters of the room so he can place Kyungsoo's body on one of the prepared stretchers. There's a small group of people assembled by it, the sight of several other similar groups lined up giving Minseok an idea of just how big Chanyeol's circle of friends was.

If it had been Kyungsoo instead, tonight would have been a shorter shift.

 

***

 

Kyungsoo wakes up to heavy limbs and a headache already on its way to disappearing completely. He flexes his fingers, reaching out for the glass of water he always keeps on his nightstand to soothe his dry throat. Blinking blearily, he almost knocks it over before noticing he didn’t put a glass out last night. He checks the clock, falling back against the pillow when noticing it’s still only four in the morning.

Moving around, his pillow shifts and his fingers hit something. Furrowing his brows, he moves the pillow aside. It takes him a few moments to process the photo, folded in half and small enough to fit in his palm. Raising his hand, he rubs at his left eye with his fingertips, bringing the small photograph closer to his face.

He doesn’t know him. Whoever it is, the man with the wide grin on his face, Kyungsoo’s confident he’s never seen him before in his life. He’s looking straight into the camera, dark hair messy and the flash is making the contrasts too sharp for the photo to be pretty. Kyungsoo unfolds the picture, stares himself right in the eyes and stops.

He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel. There’s a tiny part within him that’s in chaos, that wants him to rip the photo in half and never look at it again but he can’t. His hands aren’t moving, instead he grabs onto the photo harder than before, nails digging into the material. The air goes out of him like someone’s punched him in the gut.

In red ink, on the backside, is by Seulgi spelled out in messy handwriting. Not Kyungsoo’s. The only thing he feels is frustration, maybe tinged by some shock, because he has never seen this man in his entire life; can’t recall his name or his occupation. He has definitely met Seulgi though, can’t recall how or where or when or why and nothing clicks no matter how long he stares at the writing, the face. 

Chanyeol.

Kyungsoo curls in on himself as if he’s waiting for something to hit him, fingers slotting between his ribs. A minute goes by like that, Kyungsoo with his back against the wall and eyes screwed shut tightly. His jaw is clenched together so hard it hurts, and it’s not until he gasps for air he realizes he’s been holding his breath.

He scrambles around, gets a hold on the ORD by his bed he always keeps strapped to his wrist. Seulgi. She shouldn’t be his first option in this situation; he can’t remember them ever being close, but right now there’s no one he feels he needs more. He messes up twice before entering her code correctly, one of the few names stored on his contact list. 

_“Hello?”_ Her voice is sleepy, clearly bothered by the early call. 

“Seulgi,” Kyungsoo says immediately, panic already slipping through the cracks. “Seulgi— I —- I found something, and I’m so confused. I don’t know what to do- please—” The words come all at once, he stumbles over them and doesn’t stop until she cuts him off.

 _“Kyungsoo?”_ A pause. _“What are you talking about? It's in the middle of the night...”_

Kyungsoo doesn’t know what he was expecting, fingers trembling. “Chanyeol, it has something to do with someone named Chanyeol.” He tries to explain, grabbing for something to hold her on the line. It buzzes with silence.

 _“You’re freaking me out, Kyungsoo. Why did you call me? Isn’t there someone else who could--”_ She sounds exhausted and irked, and Kyungsoo realizes how strange all of it is. Seulgi, who has always been so kind to him despite the lack of a bond between them, must be as confused as he is. He’s never talked to her outside of work-related tasks, whenever he was forced to do his annual health-check up. Just like all the others being forced to work over-hours, she must be tired beyond belief, and he… 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think before I called,” Kyungsoo chokes on the words but forces himself to lie anyways, for their peace of mind. He shouldn’t have called. Not about something as obscure as this. The picture under his pillow, him calling Seulgi, Chanyeol — whomever or whatever that is, all of it is making his head hurt. 

_“Kyungsoo, I have to get up soon. If this is about your health, please just stop by the hospital instead of calling like this. Sleep well, okay? You shouldn’t be up this late.”_

“Right, yes. I should sleep.” Kyungsoo agrees, fingers fisted in the fabric of his shirt.  
There's a click and the call ends, Kyungsoo dropping the ORD next to him on the bed before dragging his thumbs harshly across the photo that’s been crinkled up in his hold.

He shouldn't be like this. It's just a photograph, paper he can easily discard and it's a mere coincidence he even found it. The headache seems to hit stronger, as if it's been growing ever since he woke up and is spreading through his veins. He can feel his pulse under every centimeter of his skin. He has no recollection of this man, hidden so close to his dreams.

He wishes he could shake the feeling off, that now steadily growing clump of anger that gets stuck in his throat. Clogs his words up, makes them feel wrong on his tongue. The echo's only a biting sadness, something that's not defined or matured but is still there, intangible but nestled into Kyungsoo's ribcage.

 

"Jongin," Kyungsoo croaks when the line finally gets through. He bites down on his lips, eyes red and he feels sore all over. He's so drained, as if the cold shower sucked him clean of any chaos stirring in his body. "I need to talk to you." The word need isn't an understatement anymore as Kyungsoo stumbles out of his room, fingers clenching down so hard on the photograph the paper is wrinkling and folding over itself.

 _"What's going on, Kyungsoo? It's so early—_ " Kyungsoo can hear distant shuffling over the line, what sounds like the rustling of bed sheets. _"Give me a minute, I don't want to disturb Minseok."_

He thinks he has a minute to give Jongin, so he sinks down on the couch in the small room connecting his kitchen and bedroom. Kyungsoo's knuckles are pale and when he loosens his vice grip on the picture his fingers are aching.

 _"Alright, I'm with you,"_ Jongin speaks up again. Kyungsoo leans back, sinks into the soft pillows of the sofa and closes his eyes, collecting himself. He feels picked apart, as if someone has plucked out pieces of him and carefully stashed them away. Not broken, just not well.

"I found a photo under my pillow, when I woke up," Kyungsoo murmurs, throat still dry. "There was a... a man my age right next to me in it. I don't... remember him. It's so bizarre. I keep thinking Chanyeol, Chanyeol, Chanyeol, but I don't even know who he is!" His voice rises at the end, his palm gliding repeatedly over his thigh in an attempt to calm himself down.

 _"I don't think I understand. Who's Chanyeol?"_ Jongin questions, obviously thrown off by Kyungsoo's rapid speech. As if it's somehow Jongin's fault that Kyungsoo is in this... This situation, he feels the annoyance heat up without warning.

"I don't know!" Kyungsoo doesn't mean to yell, to use that kind of harsh tone against Jongin who has never been anything but sweet to him. But it's eating at him, not knowing what he's missing, and Kyungsoo despises it. "That's the problem! I don't I know who he is! Why would I have a picture under my pillow of someone I don’t know? It makes no _sense_ "

Jongin goes quiet. "Are you alright?"

Kyungsoo feels the guilt replace his anger, sinking forward so he can lean his head against his palm. "No, don't ask me that. I'm— I'm the one who's sorry. I shouldn't lash out at you just because I'm feeling... unbalanced." He tries to sugar-coat it, but Jongin's already seen him at his worst now. Maybe there's a bit of shame edged in with the sudden rush of emotions, so different from just half an hour ago. There's nothing and then he feels everything all at once. His head hurts, his eyes hurt, his heart hurts.

_“Maybe you just.. forgot about it. Couldn’t you have put the picture there months ago?”_

“Possibly,” Kyungsoo didn’t intend to sound so bitter. Nothing fits together. Kyungsoo’s used to well-planned work days, to waking up peacefully and living without having surprises thrown in his face. Confusion has never suited Kyungsoo’s tastes, and he’s well aware of it.

There's another voice barely picked up by the device, and suddenly Jongin asks: _"Is it fine if Minseok talks to you?"_

Kyungsoo's taken aback, considers it for a few moments before letting out a "yeah."

 _"Kyungsoo, listen to me,"_ Minseok sounds so sure of himself, a steady anchor and Kyungsoo tries to relax, ease the tension in his shoulders. _"I want you to take a deep breath, close your eyes and just sit still for a little while. Go drink a large glass of water, and then take a pill to help you with your sleep, and go to bed. Can you do that for Jongin?"_

Kyungsoo doesn't question the way Minseok asks him to do it for Jongin and not for himself, or even for Minseok, as if he knows Kyungsoo's weakness lies in his bonds.

"I can," Kyungsoo says in a small voice, already feeling heavier. Tired. "I'll do that."

 _"Good night, Kyungsoo,"_ Jongin's voice comes back on and Kyungsoo doesn't get a chance to respond before the line cuts off, and he is left alone again. He breathes slowly, thinks of only the white wallpaper in his home and it's pleasant. Such a bold contrast to the mess he's had wreck through him in such a short span of time.

He takes the pills, still sitting on the couch and doesn't look at the picture when he places it on the nightstand next to him.

 

***

 

Minseok has fucked up.

It weighs down on him with every step, when he turns his back on Jongin (fast asleep, curled up in their bed) and leaves the square. Jongdae's already waiting for him at the end of the floor, arms crossed and lips pressed into a thin line. He's obviously displeased, but Minseok knows he holds nothing against him — that right now, Jongdae is beating himself up for his own mistake. After all, he was the one supposed to double check Kyungsoo's home for any of Chanyeol's belongings.

"Did you file the report already?" Jongdae asks when Minseok finally reaches him.

Minseok replies with a "yes", raising his arm and tapping against the black screen of his communication device. He would have preferred to send it in through his secure account on his laptop, but the possibility of Jongin waking up and catching a glimpse of anything was too high for him to take that risk. Instead, he'd have to type it in painfully slow on his ORD, since a vocal report hadn't been an option this time around.

"It's my fault, I should have done my job properly, as I'm supposed to do." Jongdae bites something else back, maybe another apology. Minseok has too many of those already, he doesn't want another one.

"Cut that out, Jongdae. Don't get distracted because of one slip up." Minseok's tone is harsh, but it's what Jongdae needs. He quiets down, nodding to himself as they wait for the elevator to move down to their floor. "I'm the leader, the responsibility lies with me. Don't talk about this anymore. I'll deal with the consequences. For now, we have to fix the issue at hand before it's too late."

Minseok's not bitter, however he remembers. How Changmin had vanished, after Minseok's first few months on the job. He never found out for sure, but he knows it was related to the incident that happened that night; how the stranger had woken up, fought back, been calmed down and brought up with the other bodies. Changmin had been taken away by the white coats, sent an encouraging look back at Minseok who was frozen in his spot. It didn't help Minseok at all — who smiles in a scene so reminiscent of bodies being put on stretchers and carried away?

When they reach one of the highest levels, neither one of them attempts to break the silence. That's good, Minseok comments to himself. He's focused. As if the slight furrow of Jongdae's brows and the concentrated look in his eyes aren't telltale enough.

Minseok holds up his hand, bringing his middle finger to the screen located next to Kyungsoo's door. The black screen lights up, and Minseok presses his fingertips against the flat surface. It switches colors from black to a solid orange, recognizing Minseok's code and warning him that there's still remnants of sleeping gas in the air inside the square.

"Go on in," Minseok instructs after a few seconds, because the orange has already shifted back to black, confirming that any traces of gas have been filtered out. Usually they need their masks for the first half of the job, but with small fixes like these the gas is always weaker and it's easier to just wait it out. "He should be in his bedroom, but I'd check the other rooms just to be sure we don’t miss anything this time, too."

Jongdae replies with a hasty "yes sir," already gliding in after the door has unlocked for their use. Minseok lags behind for a minute, an unfamiliar tingle in his fingertips as if he's touched something hot — biting, burning. What if the system decides to have Kyungsoo removed too, just to tie up any loose ends? Jongin wouldn't remember it, but it's easy for Minseok to spot the hint of loss in someone's eyes even when they don't know it themselves. They won't. Kyungsoo's not an easily replaced figure, he's valuable. The scientists have been dwindling in numbers over the years, anyone could notice that. The amount of information made public is close to nothing, either because they too know nothing, or perhaps too much.

Kyungsoo's home looks just the way it was when he last left it, still clean and decorated simply. The walls are painted in pale colors, a few pictures in dark frames strung up on the walls, a small plastic plant placed on the middle of the living room table. He can hear Jongdae moving around, but Kyungsoo's asleep on the couch, feet pressed against the armrest and head tilted against his upper arm.

"Jongdae?" Minseok calls out, already taking his backpack off so that he can get to his necessities within. Jongdae appears in the door frame. "I'll handle Kyungsoo, are you giving the rooms a double look over?" He doesn't take his eyes off Kyungsoo's sleeping form, can hear Jongdae confirm from where he's standing before disappearing off again into what should be Kyungsoo's bedroom.

Minseok shifts Kyungsoo over to his side so that he has access to his neck, the process of giving him the shoot a habit now — muscle memory, so much smoother than when he first started out. The younger man jerks a bit after Minseok has pulled the needle out of his skin, wiping a cotton swab across the small dot of blood visible. Coming to a halt, Minseok remains still until his stops moving. After putting away his equipment in his bag, Minseok reaches out for Kyungsoo's hand.

His fingers are clenched so hard his knuckles are white, and Minseok is careful when he peels his fingers away from the scrunched-up paper. He smoothes his palm over the wrinkled photograph, letting out a soft sigh; it saves them a lot of time to not have to search for it all across Kyungsoo's living area. His eyebrows puckering once he gets his eyes on the picture, can see creases across both the men's faces, white lines sharp against the colors.

Jongdae returns to his side, tapping on his shoulder to get his attention. "You done?" He asks, gesturing towards Kyungsoo's body as if it wasn't obvious already what he was referring to. Minseok waits a moment, then nods and gets up on his feet. His fingers curl around the handle of the backpack, lifting it up so he can sling it over his shoulder.

“What is it?” Jongdae’s voice is impatient, as if they’ve already been there too long. Most likely he just wants to return home, catch a few hours of sleep before returning to the straining work at the Pass center. And although Minseok can understand that, he doesn't like the rush.

“If he hadn’t called, we would have never realized,” Minseok points out, thumb caressing the smooth surface of the picture. “He could have wrecked the entire system if he had stayed calm.”

Jongdae snatches the picture from his hand, stopping for a second to see if Minseok is going to take it from him. He doesn't, Minseok just watches him attentively. A little curious, a little bitter.  
Jongdae stuffs his hand into a pocket on his black bag, pulling out a lighter before he lights a tiny flame. The photograph catches on fire and Minseok purses his lips together, but he doesn't object. 

That isn't a standard procedure — they're ordered to bring all items to the higher ups, have them discarded off properly. But since this case is an exception, Minseok figures they owe it to the system to rid of the problem on their own, immediately. Especially considering that they were the ones who failed to follow instructions to begin with, not the system itself.

They watch the memories burn, then Jongdae waves the paper quickly to kill the heat. The frayed edge he presses back into Minseok’s open palm, still warm. Get rid of it, he says without words. 

“We don’t dwell on that stuff. Let’s go.” Jongdae mutters, and Minseok can see himself in that statement, can see how this youth has adopted his mindset over the few years they've worked together. He's probably still thinking about what Minseok told him last night, to not talk about dead people, just stop thinking of them. They go away; they're forgettable. Minseok knows.

"You're right," he agrees, and Minseok sends Kyungsoo a last look before they move past him, hand awkwardly brushing over his hair. The empty hallways feel so refreshing when they get out, the air light and not packed full of emotions, a tension that doesn't ever seem to go away. Present in every home they repeat the process in.

"Sleep well," Minseok says when they split ways, half ways turned towards the opposite direction. Jongdae gives him a heavy look, then somehow manages to put a tired smile on his lips. It doesn't feel real, just a courtesy that Jongdae uses to kill any of Minseok's worry. Can he see it on Minseok? The way it pushes him down too? Even though Minseok’s heart is no longer racing, his arms feel heavy. His shoulders too.

"I'll try," is all Jongdae says, and for Minseok, that's enough.

 

***

 

Minseok returns home when the clock is set on one in the morning. It’s not the first time he has disappeared in the middle of the night, and without a doubt not the last. The glaring red digits only seem to make the elder's gaze heavier, and he bends his neck to the side until he hears a satisfying snap, rolling his shoulders backwards a few times. 

Minseok obviously doesn’t expect him when Jongin shuffles out from their bedroom in his underwear to find Minseok a few steps from the door, a backpack propped up against the wall. Jongin knows he should demand an explanation, that he shouldn’t keep letting instances like these go, but he just does. He stuffs the doubt and the curiosity in the depths of his pockets and doesn't pull them back out, just walks up to Minseok. He holds his hands out, running his fingers through Minseok's black hair. The roots are damp, as if he's been sweating — running? Jongin tries not to frown.

His thumbs brush over Minseok’s cheekbones, tracing out the slight dip below them. Jongin studies him in silence, then lets him off the hook by providing him with the excuse Minseok needs. “Couldn’t sleep?” Jongin murmurs, following the faint hollow underneath Minseok’s eyes, dark and resting on him with a hint of life jongin so seldom sees. It’s a flare of light, of adrenaline. Jongin doesn’t know it by heart the way he knows Minseok’s smile. 

“You’re warm. You’re not sick, are you?” There’s concern in his voice, only partly played.

“I’m fine. I didn’t mean to wake you up- I’m sorry.” Minseok always apologizes, as if he expects Jongin to be mad at him — Jongin doesn't think he could be, even if he wanted to. Not when Minseok is so clearly burdened. It's Jongin's right to ask him why, ask him what, but instead he settles for Minseok's soft words. If he needs to know, then Minseok will tell him.

Minseok tilts their foreheads together, the younger's hand stroking the back of his neck now. He tells him often of how his touch is always calming, and Jongin hushes him. At times like these, Minseok can't help think that despite his flaws, Jongin is fucking perfect.

“Don’t worry about it." He tells him, planting a kiss on Minseok's jaw, bending down slightly so he can push their bodies together. He rubs his thumb in a small circle on Minseok's shoulder blade, fingertips pulling gently at the fabric of his shirt. "I mean it. If you need to talk to me... We'll do that tomorrow, after you've rested."

Minseok hesitates, then curls his hand around Jongin’s neck, pulling him down so he can press their lips together. Jongin hums against his mouth, closes the last bit of distance between them as Minseok’s fingers dig into his thigh. This is nice, too, because Minseok knows every curve of his body so well know that it only takes a tiny movement for him to spur Jongin on.

"Let me take care of you first," Minseok says, his hand on dropping to Jongin's waist, slipping down until he can feel warm skin beneath the hem of Jongin's underwear.

Jongin's smile remains until Minseok pushes a leg between his, teeth digging into the younger's bottom lip. Hand tangled up in Minseok's hair, small kisses against the side of the elder's face, Jongin lets himself be led back to the bedroom.

Minseok feels loving and safe in his arm. That's all he can wish for.

 

***

Baekhyun gets a hold of him during his pre-lunch shift, right around noon. Minseok stops in the middle of inspecting the newly planted plum tree, the fingers of his gloves dirtied by soil. It's not often they plant new fruit trees, but this particular tree is only one of a few new for this year. The sharp whistle from his ORD goes off, and Minseok pulls of his right glove so that he can answer.

"Minseok," he says, more out of politeness than necessity. There's only one person with an A level code who would try to reach him at this hour. If it was Jongin, a teacher, there would be a lower level letter such as J or H at the front. Baekhyun's voice chimes in directly, no greeting, and Minseok can hear the strain on him. As if he's stopping himself from cursing, words sounding awfully more respectful than Baekhyun's usual, informal, way of speaking.

"I received an order today, we have problem that needs to be taken care of. I want you and Jongdae at my office at the top of the next hour. I'm calling in the second team after you both, so don't be late." There's the sound of paper and footsteps in the background of their conversations, before Baekhyun continues. "Contact Jongdae for me."

The call ends, and Minseok groans, rubbing his temples with one glove still on. The dirt smears across his skin, gets stuck in the short hair. There's only a few reasons why Baekhyun would personally call him and Jongdae into his office, or even bother to call them at all. Usually all information is relayed through their ORD devices, as a way of keeping messages brief and reducing risk of anyone listening in. The last time they went to see Baekhyun face to face, it had taken them an entire night shift to clean up.

If Minseok is to go by his gut feeling, that means he'll be getting no sleep tonight. He could probably pull a few strings for himself by talking to Baekhyun, get the day off to rest up so that the lack of sleep won't start affecting him. Nevertheless that would mean worrying Jongin, and that is not on Minseok's list of things to do. He'll have to pull through, like always.

At least Jongdae is easily accessible, picking up after just a few seconds. His voice is slightly muffled, mouth probably hidden behind one of the large face masks all Pass workers wear (slightly different from the ones Jongdae and Minseok use during their clean up shifts) in order to minimize the risk of inhaling any of the toxins in the air at the lowest levels. That's the biggest risk about the Pass workers jobs — they're right in the brewing pot of toxins being filtered out, of impure air. No wonder they die young.

“It’s Minseok.” The elder continues, proceeds to inform him of the call he had gotten from Baekhyun just a minute ago. Just like Minseok had reacted, he can hear the understanding from Jongdae. He hasn’t been out in the field for as long as Minseok has, but at least long enough to know what an office meeting entails. 

“How about we meet up outside Mr. Byun’s office in half an hour? Is that enough time for you to wrap things up at the dome?” Jongdae might not act formal with Minseok, but because of Baekhyun’s impressive position (considering his age), the elder suspects Jongdae hosts a lot of respect for him. Someone calls out Jongdae’s name and Minseok assumes he needs to get back to work. 

“Yes, that works. I’ll send you the file Baekhyun messaged me, the usual calling notice. Just show it to your boss.” Minseok presses one of the smaller buttons at the side of the ORD, flips through the screen before finding Baekhyun’s message, forwarding it to Jongdae’s own ORD device. “Got it?” He follows up, already busying himself with organizing his tools neatly so he can take them back to the garden dome’s headquarters, of sorts. Jongdae hums over the line. 

“Yeah, I got it. I’ll see you in thirty.” The sounds of the Pass levels are loud, mechanical and disorderly and Minseok hates it. Even though he’s never even been there, he’s heard enough from Jongdae (more than he’s supposed to, and he knows it all too well) to never want to do so.

Minseok had asked Jongdae about why he got placed down at Pass when they just started working together, how out of all possible job options he was sent there. Jongdae had turned towards him, seemingly sinking into himself before turning his eyes down to his shoes. Kicking the air. 

"I have a talent for making things run smoothly,” he’d muttered and Minseok had realized then that the system they live in — optimize everything, do what you are best at, don't ask too many questions — might be exactly as flawed as its population. He took all of those thoughts and shut them up. Minseok's not Changmin, Minseok doesn't make mistakes and he does not question the system.

"Things? Mechanical ones?" Minseok asked, trying to pry for more information about his new partner out of genuine curiosity. If he had been more in tune with Jongdae, the way he is now, he would have seen by the slope of his shoulders that the topic was bothering him.

"Yeah, especially the more outdated stuff, like the Pass. I read up on older generation mechanics in the school library when I was younger." Jongdae shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Not that we’ve been able to make many improvements since we got locked up in here.”

"The Pass is outdated?" Minseok's tone was incredulous, the rest of Jongdae’s answer going right past him. Just the idea of the Pass, the one thing their entire population relied on for survival, being outdated was terrifying. But it also put things into perspective for a brief moment, about how long their families had been shut inside the building now. Jongdae seemed to regret what he had said instantly. 

“I don’t— that’s not what I meant. The Pass is under control and updated, just… _aged_.”  
Since then, Minseok has learned to tell when Jongdae lies.

He finishes collecting his tools, placing them in his bag before beginning to move back to the garden dome station. It always takes him roughly fifteen minutes to cover that distance, but once he’s there he’ll have access to his locker and an elevator that reaches all floors. The vegetation brushes against his legs, the warmth collected within the garden dome causing sweat to run down his temples and neck. It’s unlike any other area of the building. 

Minseok searches through the pocket on his hip, gets his fingers on the thick ID card. It has the basic info on the front: his name, birthdate, square number, occupation, a photo. The back however has a five digit code pressed in silver, standing out against the black background. Most people don’t have one — his own personal passcode so that he can access the upper levels at all times, the ones restricted for the average citizen. 

The station towers up before him, light grey catching the artificial light from the garden dome ceiling. He flips the card over, moving it between his fingers before pressing it against the scanner before pushing the doors open, the cold air from the inside blowing against him all at once. It’s refreshing, but he pulls on his uniform jacket anyways, heading towards the lockers. They’re divided into the same sections the garden dome is, labeled by a number and name (switched whenever a new worker is added or passes away). 

Minseok manages to wrap up quickly, leaving his work bag in his locker before heading up to Baekhyun’s office. Jongdae’s already waiting for him, the navy blue overall if the Pass workers pulled down with the sleeves wrapped around his hips, his grey t-shirt stained around the neckline.

“Mr. Byun’s going to complain we look like shit,” Jongdae says, giving Minseok a quick look over. 

“Baekhyun’s not going to say anything about us doing what we’re supposed to. Come on, get moving, there’s no point in just standing out here.” Minseok replies, beginning to walk down the hallway lined with office doors — dark brown wood against white walls. Baekhyun’s room is close to the elevator location, and when they reach the sign with his full name on it Minseok knocks against the wood with the back of his hand before pushing it open.

Baekhyun’s leaned back in his chair, paperwork piling up on his desk. He looks up, bottom lip trembling and eyes glassy, and Minseok’s heart sinks to the lowest level.

“Good, you’re on time,” Baekhyun says, waving them forwards with a half-hearted gesture. His eyes are red and puffy, tongue repeatedly running over his cracked bottom lip. Minseok thinks he spots his hands trembling, when he holds out two dark grey folders. He and Jongdae takes one each, gaze only briefly looking down at the material when his fingers skim along the edge of the bundle of papers.

“Room numbers, profiles, the usual. Get rid of them as soon as you’ve memorized it, and you cannot afford to mess up on this one. There’s thirty seven squares that need to be covered, but you’re only in charge of twenty. The other team will handle the remaining ones. I expect you to be efficient and get this done within the night. We’re having the curfew moved to twenty one, which means you’re granted an extra two hours. We are saying it’s an order to inspect a suspected toxin leak at the bottom of the building, and that they need to remain within their homes for safety.”

Baekhyun pauses, leaning forward a bit in his chair. “If any citizen asks you why you’re leaving your square, tell them you’ve been called in for assistance.” Baekhyun tries to sound steady, but his voice is thick and he’s not meeting Minseok’s eyes. This is the same speech they’re usually given, apart from the rare change of curfew. It’s understandable, though, even if they’re splitting the workload up between two teams covering twenty squares within their shift will be difficult. 

“Who’s the subject?” Minseok has to ask. A few seconds go by, Baekhyun twirling on the ring on his left hand. He’s one of the few who use them — rings between married partners are an old custom, and has been mostly abandoned since they gathered up within the building. 

Baekhyun finally looks up. “Kim Junmyeon.”

Oh. Of course, Minseok realizes. Who else would put Baekhyun in such a state? Roughed up and fiddling, constantly seeking some kind of distraction. 

Kim Junmyeon is Baekhyun’s husband of four years.

Junmyeon who works down at the Pass center with Jongdae, brown-haired and soft-eyed. He’s heard nothing but praises about him from Jongdae, about how Junmyeon has single handedly been the reason why the Pass technology has advanced so much in such a short span of time. But it’s been months since Jongdae spoke of him like that. Minseok has met him a few times, taken his hand and introduced himself but never really spoken to him. But he’s also heard about Junmyeon’s heavy coughing, the way his fingers have begun to stiffen while he’s working and how he blanks out when Jongdae is talking to him.

Minseok turns his head to the side, just in time to see Jongdae’s face fall before he collects himself. This is the difference between them — Jongdae is still new. He needs to get a better grip on his emotions, not throw his heart out there so easily. Not that Minseok wasn’t just like him at first.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” the elder says, because to him Junmyeon is already dead. He’s just an extra body, taking up space, and that’s okay. If he wasn’t the one handling the task, someone else would be. Life requires sacrifice. Minseok tries to imagine what it would be like if they ever tried to take Jongin away from him, to see Jongin physically fade away in his arms and then have to carry his body up to the white coats and hand it over as if it’s an object he doesn’t need anymore.

He wants to throw up.

“Junmyeon’s health has been deteriorating for the past year, and no visit to the doctor’s office could help him. Toxins can’t be cured, we both knew that all along. He’s putting others at risk, that’s why he’s being… removed.” Baekhyun’s lips twitch, hands running up his face and Minseok wonders if he’s about to break down. He doesn’t want to see Baekhyun cry, wouldn’t know what to do. It’s so different when it’s not Jongin. Because even if Minseok has been working under Baekhyun for years now, he doesn’t know him. All Minseok can do is hope Baekhyun finds some sort of comfort in the fact that tomorrow, he’ll have forgotten everything. It’ll all be gone, and he won’t miss it.

“You’re dismissed,” Baekhyun says, thumb grazing the skin of his cheek. “Report back to me tomorrow at eight. Instead of Junmyeon’s full name you’ll be using his initials, K.J. We have your day shifts covered, so feel free to return to your squares and get some rest.” He doesn’t say it out loud, but his tone implies a silent ‘you’ll need it.’ Minseok and Jongdae nod in unison, retreating back to the door. Jongdae almost stumbles over himself once they're outside the room, like he can’t get out of there fast enough.

“Calm down. You’ll embarrass yourself,” Minseok says sharply, holding out a hand to press against Jongdae’s chest. Maybe it’s the unexpected touch, or the tone of Minseok’s voice, or the soft sound of crying from behind the door, but something in Jongdae snaps.

“I’ll embarrass myself? What is wrong with you?” Jongdae’s steps closer, black eyes and Minseok immediately raises his arm to keep some space between them. “Am I supposed to just feel nothing when a friend of mine is sent to die? Do you even know what it’s like to watch someone be taken over by the toxins?”

No, Minseok doesn’t know, but he grabs Jongdae’s wrist and jerks him closer. Jongdae goes lax, his gaze is still trained on Minseok’s face, and he can see the massive anger nesting right beneath the color, ready to turn back on himself. It is as much of a toxin as anything.

“There are no other options, Jongdae. It’s not about feeling less or more, it’s about making it through another day. If you are not actively supporting the rest of the community, you can’t stay. Do you think we have an endless supply of resources? That we’ll be able to just happily live on inside of here, all of us, forever?” Jongdae’s eyes flicker to the side, but Minseok can see the way the animosity slips off him. He finally looks down.

“No. But I don’t think lack of resources will be why we all eventually die.” He lets out quietly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Minseok begins walking again, and Jongdae remains next to him, finally straightening his back. The younger presses his lips together  
.  
“I don’t really know yet.” He says as an excuse. “Sometimes I just wonder if I’m really meant to be doing this, if there’s not someone else who would be… Better at handling it. At staying focused on the bigger picture, not just my own feelings.” 

“We all go through that. Me, Changmin…” Minseok cuts himself off, doesn’t want to dwell in the past the way he constantly tells Jongdae not to. "The system doesn’t make mistakes. If you’re here, it’s because you’re supposed to be, and it doesn’t have to be any more complicated than that.” 

The elevator doors open for them, Minseok pressing in the level codes.

“I’m just human,” Jongdae gets out. “All of us, we’re just human.”

Minseok looks over at him, a faint smile dying at the curl of his lips. “Don’t you think I know that?”

 

***

 

“Where are you going?” Jongin’s sitting on the sofa, cuddled up in a blanket and with student files in his hand. He’s been marking them ever since the notice about the early curfew was announced over the speakers and everyone was instructed to return to their squares. There’s traces of red ink on his fingertips, a barely noticeable contrast against Jongin’s tan skin, but Minseok knows about it because he kissed those fingers — leaned in for one more on Jongin’s mouth. Jongin puts another file on the table; they’re beginning to pile up, sorted into a pattern Minseok doesn’t know of.

“I’ve been called in to assist with carrying supplies down to the Pass floor,” Minseok explains, eyes gliding over to the clock. 20:53. He’s dressed in his usual all-black uniform, sleeveless with his jacket stuffed down in his bag. He barely needs it, the building’s temperatures rarely shift, only within the garden dome is there anything remotely close to the so called seasons many older books refer to. Still, the upper levels can be chilly late at night, with no other people around. Jongdae’s company, but he’s only one person. 

“Oh,” Jongin says, disappointed. “I thought we would finally have some time together.”

Minseok crosses the room, putting on a smile as he cups Jongin’s face, kisses him sweetly. “I’ll be there when you wake up, alright?” Jongin leans into his touch when Minseok drops one hand, thumb brushing over the younger’s cheekbone. He places the student documents on the low table by the couch, Jongin’s fingers rubbing against the back of Minseok’s neck. 

“Alright,” Jongin murmurs, linking their fingers together fleetingly. “Be careful.” Minseok nods, tucking a strand of Jongin’s brown hair behind his ear before standing up straight. He squeezes Jongin’s hand, tilting his head a little to the side — from above, he can see the pretty slope of Jongin’s nose, how his eyelashes fan out over his cheeks and cast shadows. Jongin lets go, hand running up Minseok’s arm before he lowers it.

“See you soon,” Minseok answers, Jongin echoing his words as he begins to move back towards the door. He heads out, grabbing his backpack in passing.

Minseok expects Baekhyun to be awake; there's a feeling in his gut that somehow Baekhyun's not ready to let go. Would he ever have been?

But the square is completely void of human voices, only the faint buzzing of the clock filling the space. Jongdae angles himself towards him, fingering at the stiff hem of the mask that's covering his face before pulling it down, letting it rest around his neck. The thick strap keeps it in place.

"Let me handle Junmyeon." His voice is low, a wish. Minseok studies him, wondering if he should send him off to another home, take this one on himself. Neither Junmyeon or Baekhyun will be a hassle to carry, but it would take him twice as long.

"Alright," Minseok agrees, tone equally hushed. He can give Jongdae this last opportunity to say his goodbyes in his head. They move through the short hallway as one, the sickly sweet stench still permeates the air, even if its effect is gone. The bedroom door slides open without a sound, and Jongdae and Minseok branch off onto one side each of the bed. Minseok places his bag on the ground, crouching next to it on the balls of his feet so he can get his hands on the needle.

Baekhyun and Junmyeon are tangled up, eyes closed and heads tilted together. Minseok bends forward, arms hovering above them before his hands find a place on Baekhyun's knee, another on his waist. He rolls him over carefully, touch gentle as he uncoils Baekhyun's and Junmyeon's heartstrings with clinical precision. Minseok's words might be crude, but there is no one better than him at this.

Jongdae remains quiet throughout the process, his usually swift hands moving slowly and Minseok throws him a glance every now and then, making sure he hasn't stopped working. He can see the way Jongdae's shoulder slump forward, teeth worrying his lower lip as he lets the needle bite into Junmyeon's skin. The air is odd, thick with what Jongdae has pent up inside of him — he doesn’t speak out, has been taught well by Minseok. But that doesn’t mean the regret goes away, it just piles up in scissor sharp bunches and stings every time they turn. A twist of the upper body, a drag of fingers across skin, and they’re cutting themselves open from the insides.

Minseok is numb from years, from white walls on white coats on death, and he soaks up tiny traces of gas until he’s light headed and obedient. It’s fine, this way, to act as a part of the whole; it’s simple, safe, deducts his risks when he knows what he’s a part of. When he knows what he cannot do. Why does he think of himself in a separate category from Baekhyun? Why is Jongin — unaware, too soft — still alive, when Junmyeon is destined to die within the hour? 

If any of them had attempted to decry the system, to pull back the clean fabric of precise numbers, it would all collapse. Deep inside, no matter what gallant hero he would have wished himself to be when he was a kid, Minseok knows that this is what is meant to be. There is no other way that they, as a whole, can care for themselves. The atrophy of their society will continue only if they choose to see the world in black and white, and Minseok is working in the grey area, right at the line. None of them can afford to be narrow-minded, especially not Minseok, even when he can clearly see the way Baekhyun and Junmyeon’s hands are still tightly gripping each other.

Baekhyun shivers in his arms, and Minseok's hand immediately yanks upwards, palm finding its way to cover Baekhyun's mouth. It's instinct — something burnt into Minseok's memory. If they wake, they have to be kept quiet until the sleeping drug has enough of a grip on them that they can't fight back. Jongdae hasn't noticed yet, but Minseok's heart is beating rapidly within the confinement of his chest when Baekhyun's eyes flutter open slowly. Minseok can feel his breath against the palm of his hand.

They stare at each other, Minseok with steel eyes and Baekhyun as if he's dreaming, then his gaze languidly glides over to Junmyeon's figure. Minseok removes his hand, hurriedly prepares the needle with a rush he's unused to. He can't mess up can't mess up _can't mess up_. Baekhyun acknowledges him and takes one last, longing look at Junmyeon's sleeping face before letting his eyes fall shut. 

Minseok doesn't hesitate, strokes the stray hair out of the way so he can let the shot press through Baekhyun's neck. He almost yanks forward, only stilled by Minseok's hard grip on his shoulder. Minseok can feel it, the way Baekhyun is struggling internally not to elbow Minseok right in the gut. He digs his fingertips into the slope of Baekhyun's shoulder, can hear Jongdae working right across the bed. Trembling while exhaling, Baekhyun finally relaxes in Minseok's hold, Jongdae still busy with Junmyeon. It takes a minute before Minseok calms down, more shaken than Baekhyun. Was that what Minseok had hoped for? To see Baekhyun so at peace, so accepting?

"Are you okay?" Jongdae's voice calls Minseok back. He easily spots the uncertainty hidden in the younger's expression. Minseok doesn't answer, just nods and places the needle in his plastic bag.

"Look through the bathroom and kitchen, I'll grab whatever Junmyeon keeps in here." Jongdae disappears out the door, leaving Minseok alone with his thoughts and two bodies. He rummages through all of the drawers, picks out all of the pictures he can find, any papers or documents with Junmyeon's name printed on them. 

Most nights, it's not too hard of a task; there's a team specifically stopping by to clean up any remnants once he and Jongdae gets out of there. They discard of the more trivial items, such as tooth brushes and anything that could potentially trigger a memory. Minseok and Jongdae, however, rip the work at the seams. They grab the wedding bands and the photographs, the bodies and the names.

Jongdae returns with only a few framed photographs, crams them into his bag when Minseok closes the last drawer. This time he holds Baekhyun up as he lifts the pillows of their bed, checking underneath them for any hidden belongings of Junmyeon's. There's nothing.

"We better head up so we'll stay on schedule," Minseok remarks, lifting his arm up so the time on his ORD is visible to Jongdae. They've already been there for half an hour, three minutes too long. Even if they don't allow people out until six in the morning tomorrow, Minseok and Jongdae have to up their pace to fit in the other rooms within their shift.

Jongdae envelops Junmyeon within his arms attentively, backpack on and a crease between his brows. Minseok can perceive, even from his spot, the unnatural length of time between Junmyeon's breaths, his chest heaving heavily every now and then. And he can take from Junmyeon's folded figure, the sickly pale tone of his skin and the discoloration beneath his eyes, the way the sickness ate him up from the inside out. Minseok swallows, gathers Baekhyun in his arms and lifts him up. He wonders momentarily if he is imagining how light Baekhyun feels, if he is thinking that somehow Baekhyun's burden has physically left him.

He's rambling to himself, snapping out of it as soon as Jongdae carries Junmyeon out the door with Minseok at his heels. They remain silent throughout the entire length of the white hallway that leads to the elevator. Instead of the codes they frequently use to reach the higher levels, Minseok uses the voice communicator on the ORD to have the elevator programmed for them. When handling more than one body, assistance is always needed.

It still stinks when they step out, but Jongdae's tight grip on the fabric of Junmyeon's clothes have loosened, and when he's commanded to put him on the stretcher, Jongdae follows order.

"You're seven minutes late," a lady in white comments to Minseok, and he bites his teeth together.

"We apologize," he says. "We'll make it up on the next round." She eyes him, then gestures him away towards the unoccupied stretcher. Baekhyun is still breathing, will be back to normal within the next twenty four hours, but for some reason it stings to see him put there. There's no way to distinguish the culled bodies, the sick ones, when they lie besides the people who will return home in the next few hours, who get to go on living.

 

Minseok spots Baekhyun a month later, in the passing and arms heavy by the body curled against his chest. It shouldn't come as a shock, how bright-eyed and vigorous Baekhyun appears, the way he used to always be before the months that led up to Junmyeon’s removal. When they cross ways, Minseok one step away, Baekhyun’s polite smile rips right off, his delight nowhere to be seen. It was the first inkling, the last one too, that Minseok caught onto. He flexes his muscles, marches on with Jongdae already out of sight around the corner. White coats are waiting.

In retrospect, Baekhyun’s demotion should not have come as a surprise. Jongdae is called in along with himself, greeted by an older man with a firm handshake and short hair that goes grey at the temples. They’re not given an explanation other than the system deciding that Baekhyun would be able contribute more in his newly given position than he was as the head of Jongdae and Minseok’s team (only once of several tasks which he had gleaned over the years). There’s questions on the tip of Minseok’s tongue, ready to spill out and infect the air with suspicion, the most dangerous state of mind for anyone. Instead of letting himself get lost, Minseok remains calm and collected, greets his new partner with the respect and understanding expected of him. 

When they exit the office (Baekhyun’s nameplate already replaced) Minseok momentarily presses his palm between Jongdae’s shoulder blades. The younger glances in his direction, and Minseok offers him a comforting smile. “I’m sure Baekhyun is doing fine.” He offers.

“But he just vanished. After we took Junmyeon, he was acting just as he used to when I first got to know him, and then he just… Why would they relocate him? That almost never happens, and Baekhyun was excellent at his job,” Jongdae pours out, hands moving rapidly to keep up with the flow of words. 

“Jongdae, I know I’ve told you this before but—” Minseok furrows his brows, stops in the middle of the hallway. He lowers his voice, leans in. “Don’t think about it. Don’t do it. Cut all of it off, let it be the way it is and go on with your life. When decisions are made, it’s for the betterment of everyone. I know what it’s like to — to want to question what we do, to want to expose and rip apart and say no. Jongdae, it’s not worth it.”

Jongdae stares back at him. “That’s so weak. Are we really improving lives by discarding any thoughts of individualism?” he disagrees, and even if his posture speaks of defeat, Jongdae’s eyes are burning with challenge. Hot like his temper, hot like the burning fires at the lowest levels of the Inside. 

“It’s not about being strong or being weak!” Minseok hisses, nettled by Jongdae refusing to listen, over and over. Still, he can’t help but agree with what Jongdae said. In his core, Minseok’s still fresh out of school, the greenling on the team. 

“Alright,” Jongdae says with finality. “I’ll just be.” And even if Minseok doubts the sincerity in that statement, he heaves a sigh of relief, shaking his head.

“It’s not complicated,” Minseok insists, begins to walk again.

“That’s why I don’t like it,” Jongdae replies.

 

The message is short, send straight to Minseok’s ORD from an unrecognized code the same evening they received the news about Baekhyun’s move. There’s no name, no way to trace it back to a sender. On the ORD, the text is displayed in bold, green letters:

**Sickness starts in the System.**

Minseok blinks, stares at the sole sentence and then presses delete; there’s a feeling in his gut that it isn’t something he’s supposed to keep. Something coils in his gut — fear?  
It sticks to him like sap, a constant itch at the back of his head, and when Jongin returns home, Minseok wraps himself in his arms. Flees.

 

***

 

Minseok keeps a revolver around with a bullet in it. A single bullet to five empty cylinders, because there are better ways to go about things than to let someone bleed out. More efficient ways, kinder ways. Jongin knows this, even if Minseok seems to believe he’s still unaware, kept in the dark. The gun is shoved into a backpack Jongin knows he keeps at the back of his closet, hidden underneath layers of clothes and Jongin swallows thickly. 

He rips the zipper open with a jerk, as if somehow what he saw there before will have vanished into thin air. When he pulls the revolver out, the metal reflects the warm bedroom light, cuts right through his focus. Jongin looks at the small photograph in his hand, the one he’s kept in the pocket of his shirt every day for the past few years. Ever since he took it with Minseok, he’s had it resting right over his heart. Irresolute, he shifts the balance from his right leg to his left, hand still resting on back pack and he finally puts it down on the floor.

It’s still there, cold metal gleaming contently underneath the artificial lighting of their bedroom, when he looks back at it. The gun weighs a ton in Jongin’s hand, stuffed full with Minseok’s hopes and thoughts and future. He’s never told Jongin about it, had it carefully stashed away all these years. And of course Jongin never suspected, never even thought of going through Minseok’s belongings. Everyone needs their space, their privacy, even between the two of them who lie entangled in each other.

Is it strange for him to worry? Jongin can’t settle on an opinion, keeps moving the gun from hand to hand. Minseok’s been distant, moving anxiously around every time he’s at home, looking for something in every corner of their home. Even in their bed, he’ll touch Jongin as if he’s trying to open him up, see what he’s all about — when they kiss, Minseok tastes of urgency, need. But the clock’s still ticking at the same speed as ever.

Jongin fumbles to get the cylinder cage open, but he manages; the bullet spills out into the palm of his hand. He gets a hold of the rolled up photograph, slowly fits it inside the same chamber the bullet had occupied and clicks the cylinder back into place. He can’t let Minseok go like that, needs to show him that he’d regret it. Jongin will miss the weight of him over his heart, a reminder of years past and those to come. 

He can hear a door click open, footsteps and Jongin rushes to shove the revolver back into the backpack, safety on, putting it back in Minseok’s closet and returning his clothes to their place on top of it as neatly as he can while rushing. The bullet he puts in his chest pocket, where his photo used to be. Brushing his palms over his pants, Jongin feels like he’s trying to get dirt off his hand even if he knows Minseok could never look at him and physically see that Jongin has taken an option from him. His heart feels like it’s about to bust out of his ribcage.

Even when Minseok reaches for his hands, pulling Jongin in for a soft kiss, he feels guilty.

 

***

 

"Minseok!" Amber calls out, as usual seen in her work clothes, the same style of worker outfit as Minseok's. Her blonde hair is a mess, sticking to the sides of her face and straight up at the back. With a hand raised high, she waves him over to where she and an unfamiliar young man is standing. Dragging his eyes up the man's body as he walks towards them, Minseok guesses that he's either there for immersion rounds or he's fresh out of school and there for a permanent position. He doesn't look a day over twenty, dark eyes at an angle that reminds Minseok of the feline look Jongdae has.

Amber gestures towards the kid with a smile, enthusiastic as always. "This is Huang Zitao," she says. "He'll be taking the 8 to 18 shift in the part of the C section that's connected to your area in B. I thought I should introduce him to some of the higher level workers in this field so that if he messes up he'll know who to go to." Laughing, she pats Zitao's shoulder, oblivious to the way his face scrunches up in embarrassment. There's a strain to Minseok's heart the moment she announces his position, and the elder gives Zitao a sharp stare he's sure he caught on to.

"Did I hear that right? The 8 to 18 shift?" he repeats with a questioning tone. Looking at Amber for confirmation, he notices there’s a depth to her eyes, an underlying hint of drowsiness Minseok knows all too well. Amber nods.

“Yes,” she says, fingers brushing over the documents in her hands: instruction manuals, schedules, profiles, from what Minseok can catch with his eyes. “We thought it would be best to have an extra pair of hands around here.” As if there had never been. "Zitao just finished school a couple of days ago, and I've been showing him around the place ever since the system placed him here. I'm expecting another three or four from the same class, but we haven't been informed of anything yet."

Minseok’s face doesn’t show the gratitude someone would be expected to show if their workload is to be lessened. Instead, he just looks at Zitao as if he sees someone else. 

“Zitao’s a Chinese name, isn't that right?” He asks, and the youth nods in response, fingers absentmindedly tracing the faint scar on his neck. The one Minseok knows will be eerily similar to his own, to Jongdae's, Baekhyun's, all of theirs.

"Yes, I'm Chinese." Zitao says.

Aware of the guarded tone he's been using, Minseok gives Zitao the tiniest of smile to soothe the younger’s nerves. Minseok holds out his hand. Immediately reaching forward, Zitao shakes his hand, slightly bent forward. 

"I won't mess up," he promises, and Minseok would laugh if it wasn't for the serious expression on Zitao’s face. He can relate to the imposing expectations — in the garden dome, there's a lot to keep track of at once, and it can definitely seem intimidating at first.

 

"I'm sure you will handle everything just fine. If you are having troubles with anything and can't reach Amber, you can always contact me." Minseok offers.

"I'm good at what I do," Zitao insists with confidence, and this time Minseok lets himself laugh.  
"Well, you'll have to prove it." He smiles, turning to Amber. "I have to get back to my section before my break is up, but I'll see you around." Both she and Zitao wave him off, and Minseok can feel the younger man's gaze at the back of his neck like a stinging bug.

As if there never was.

Wu Yifan was Chinese too, and the last time Minseok heard from him was only as late as two weeks ago. They'd never been particularly close, but his absence the past days had definitely been noticed. Minseok didn't expect them to be able to replace him this quickly, but at the same time the system's speed at filling in the gaps has always been impressive.

He had not been able to carry Yifan on his own.

The second to last time Minseok had seen him, Yifan had been checking out from the C section at 18:00 on the dot. Punctual as always, but posture bent over and curled in on himself. Minseok's eyes had lingered at his back, seen it disappear behind the doors before leaving it be.  
His ORD had beeped shortly after that.

Now he'll be forced to start from scratch. Minseok has no idea what Zitao's character is like, not the way he knew Yifan — after working together for so long, it was easy for Minseok to slip away unnoticed or use Yifan’s habits to draw attention away from his own irregular schedule. But if Zitao is as attentive as he seems to be, there's a risk he'd catch on to Minseok's interruptive ORD calls, how he sometimes disappears for hours at a time in the middle of a shift. He'll have to work on his excuses again, or just not talk about it at all. The latter option is definitely more appealing, but if someone was to tug on that loose end, his absences could easily become all too suspicious.

Minseok curses internally, moves through the door and back out into the sticky warmth of the garden dome's open area. He follows the path to the C section, tools stuffed into the bag that he has flung over his shoulder. Quickly growing damp, his hair sticks to his forehead and the sides of his face. His clothes, despite being produced out of thin material, make him feel stuffy and uncomfortable. During the hottest days in the garden dome, carefully planned out and regulated, his job feels like the worst thing on the Inside.

The doors shut behind him; Zitao's and Amber's voices cut out. To catch the sweat on his forehead, Minseok drags his fingers over his forehead, grimacing as he heads into the green and lets himself be swallowed by it for another few hours. No sounds to distract him but the rustling of his feet against soft ground.

 

***

 

“Every night,” Jongin says, jaw clenching and fingers tight around Minseok’s arm. “You’ve been gone every night for two weeks. You know I don’t ask you about it ever, but this is too much! What are you doing?” This is what Minseok fears the most; Jongin growing curious, questioning everything. It’s no good, it’s not safe, and that’s all he cares about — keeping Jongin safe.

“It’s my work hours. They’re trying to make up for the lack of people—” Minseok starts, puzzling together an awful lie because he has always hated that about his life the most. All the secrets stuffed in between them that Minseok can never tell, despite wanting to, so badly. Jongin’s frown is proof enough he doesn’t swallow it. The gap between them closes when Jongin takes a step forward, fingers running down Minseok’s arm to wrap around his wrist instead. Keeping him there.

“Don’t lie to me,” he begs, softer this time. Because that’s how Jongin works — gently, coaxing Minseok out of his hardened shell with little touches and little words. “Me more than anyone, Minseok. Don’t lie to me. Please, please, just tell me what’s wrong. Don’t be distant. I just— Minseok, I love you. You know that, all I want is to be with you, to be here for you.”

It hurts. Stings because Jongin knows him so well, knows how to soothe him but also how to make him cry. Minseok reels him in, burrows his head against Jongin’s shoulder with one hand entangled in his hair. The elder hushes, wraps an arm around Jongin’s waist to calm his shaking.

“I’m sorry, Jongin. I’m sorry, I really am. I just— I can’t. I can’t tell you, not now. Just trust me, alright? I’m always here if you need me, it’s just that sometimes other people need me too.” 

“Stay tonight,” Jongin doesn’t ask. He presses their chests together, fingers curling in the hem of Minseok’s tee. “Don’t leave. Just… I need you tonight.” Minseok hums, pressing a kiss to Jongin’s collarbone.

“I’ll stay,” he can’t make any promises, but he can try.

 

***

 

Minseok doesn't take notice of it at first. The change is so gradual, spiraling upwards until suddenly he's in a stranger's home, with a stranger's body in his arms, and he realizes he's repeated it every night for the past three weeks. Because Jongin told him so, because Jongin called him out on it. If it wasn’t for him, would he have gone on, never fully realizing?

Frozen in his step, the sounds of breathing suddenly seem too loud, so artificial.  
"Minseok?" Jongdae asks, looking at him with concern in his eyes. Minseok blinks, words stuck on his tongue and his gaze momentarily drifts between the female body in his arm and Jongdae's figure two meters away. "You okay there?"

Shaking himself out of it, Minseok begins walking again. "I'm fine." It's such a blatant lie. Minseok knows that Jongdae can tell, but it doesn't matter.

At the back of his mind, the conversations he has overheard the last few weeks (that had left him puzzled) suddenly make sense. It's a list that goes on: understaffed areas at the school, not enough doctors, more people moved down to the Pass center. No wonder the system's been so hectic, trying to figure out if there are ways to cut out time from the set numbers of years a person spends in school, trying to balance out numbers when some dwindle drastically in areas. 

All of this he's picked up from the white coats at the higher floors whom he overhears whenever he and Jongdae finish up a round. They're always in groups, discussing with rapid voices. Jongin, too, has expressed his concern about the minimal numbers of teachers that now work with the students.

It never clicked.

He's been too caught up in himself, in the nightly hours, to notice how he went from picking someone up once every few weeks to every other night, to every single one. Dragging his tongue across his chapped lips (a habit of uneasiness), Minseok speaks up again.

"Jongdae," He says. "Our night shifts... Don't you think they've increased lately?"  
He's repeated the question in his head, worded it several times so that it sounds unaffected.

Jongdae's gaze hits hard. There's something he wants to say, Minseok just fucking knows there is, but something's holding him back; it's not hard to figure out what. As if he's doing it unconsciously, Jongdae sweeps his fingers across the ORD strapped to his wrist.

"Haven't really thought about it," Jongdae shrugs. "Might just be a bug like that time a few years back."

The bug Jongdae had referenced was a brief period right after Jongdae started working where almost an entire floor of inhabitants had been removed. Neither one of them had been informed of why, and they hadn't bothered to ask any questions. It wasn't a disease, that much they had figured out just from their visits.

"That could be it. Or maybe someone's been stirring up troubles in one of the sectors, could mean they decided to just off with everyone. It wouldn't be the first time," Minseok agrees, then shuts up. He's said enough, found out enough from Jongdae for the moment.

"Are you free for lunch tomorrow? It's been a while," he offers, turning his face to Jongdae once they step into the elevator. He takes care to fold the young woman's body together just a bit more, so that her naked feet won't bump against Jongdae's thighs. And it's because Jongdae knows Minseok on the same level Minseok knows him that he says yes, that he doesn't say ‘What are you talking about? We ate together just three days ago.’ They don't fit together the way Minseok falls so easily into Jongin's arms, knows his thoughts before he thinks them. But there's a thick bond of mutual understanding forged through years of secrets and cooperation that makes Jongdae the ideal working partner.

"I'll take you up on that offer," Jongdae tells him, not meeting his eyes.

 

"You've never taken a risk like this before," Jongdae states. They're sitting in the lunchroom down at the garden dome, the chatter of other workers drowning out the sound of their conversation. Minseok can't disagree, only purses his lips, not acknowledging that by seeking more information than he is privy to know he's opposing all of his higher authorities.

"What made you curious? Are you trying to get a good foot in with the higher ups so they'll let you have a more favorable position?" There's a teasing demeanor to Jongdae, to the way he's speaking and smiling. Different, but not completely so, from the way he tends to act during their shared night shifts.

"You know it doesn't work like that and I am perfectly satisfied with where I am at the moment," Minseok says, tracing the rim of his plate with his finger. He weighs his face against the palm of his hand, observing Jongdae quietly.

"I know, and you're not the type of person to do that anyway." Jongdae stabs a piece of potato with his fork, spinning the fork between his fingers. "Did something happen with Jongin?"

The color drains from Minseok's face, mind working frantically to try to figure out if Jongdae knows something he doesn't. "Jongin is perfectly fine." 

Eyes thinning sharply, Jongdae quirks an eyebrow. "If you say so, it's probably true. Then, why the sudden need to call me over to ask me about my opinion on... the past few weeks."

"Because I value your opinion and I want to know why we've been getting next to no sleep these days," Minseok mutters, only partly telling the truth. Letting out a sigh, Jongdae drifts his eyes over the mass of workers beginning to filter out from the lunch room. If they plan on getting anything said, they'll have to hurry before their cover is completely gone.

"The... the purification system quarters are beginning to become understaffed." This time, Jongdae leans in close enough for Minseok to see the way his hands are trembling, bottom lip cracked and his drowsy eyes seem even darker at that distance. Hand moving to the ORD on his wrist, Jongdae presses his fingertips right over the speakers, and Minseok follows suit. It's not a guarantee someone won’t listen in, but it's as good of a hope as any. "Most of the people we've been assigned... they're Pass workers, the ones who work in the deepest part. They're exposed to a much higher level of toxins than any of the other inhabitants ever will be inhale, and that's daily."

"Are you—" Minseok begins, fingertips pushing against the ORD even tighter than before, but Jongdae cuts him off.

"I'm not... at that level yet. It's better for me, since my job is pretty much just a cover up. I have regular check ups, far more frequent than any other worker despite the fact that I'm stationed pretty far away from the actual machines. But Minseok, they can't fit all of those workers in to see doctors, they don't have enough people to look after them. You saw Junmyeon, and he was nowhere near as bad as some of those workers end up."

Startled by the loud signal announcing that their break was over, Jongdae jerks.

"I'll be on my way. Don't... don't mention any of this, not to anyone. Especially not Jongin. I don't care how well you trust him- I can't," he admits, and Minseok doesn't promise him, has learned not to promise anyone but Jongin anything. It's too easy to slip up, end up with more problems than it's worth. 

"This is between you and me," Minseok says, and the look Jongdae gives him is one of gratitude.

"I already said too much. If they get me you better handle my body well. Otherwise I’ll come back to haunt you." It's obvious that Jongdae meant it as a joke, but Minseok isn't laughing and neither is Jongdae. Brushing his hair out of his eyes, he stands up. "Time to go then," Jongdae says. Minseok follows suit.

Once Jongdae is gone, has seen him off with a pat on his back, Minseok realizes how locked up he feels. It's not the first time it has dawned on him, the raw emotion of not being limited in space but also in mind: opinions, actions, choices, schedules. It's so carefully planned out for him, for all of them. Covering his eyes with his fingers, he takes a deep breath and relaxes; exhales the worries and the doubts until he's a blank slate, clean, usable.  
One, two, three, four...

"Minseok?"

Hands falling from his face, Minseok looks over his shoulder, Zitao appearing from a corner of the room. Had he been there all along? The kid must possess some damn impressive skills to slip past Minseok's eye, even when he's acting so unfocused.

"Oh, Zitao. Lagging behind in the lunchroom? Not a good way to behave during your first weeks at the job," trying act unbothered, Minseok puts on a smile. An air of being in control.

"I've only done it this once because I saw you were staying after." There's a defensive tone to Zitao's voice, but the slight whine at the end just makes it clear he's embarrassed about being caught. "Are you okay? You looked like you were about to pass out."

Minseok waves away his concern. "I'm good, just a headache. It'll pass before I know it. Now head back to work before Amber catches you, and trust me when I say she can be terrifying." He's still grinning lopsidedly, gesturing towards the door as he takes a few steps towards the lockers. Zitao gives him a look-over, then scrambles away and out through the door. The second he's out of sight, Minseok rushes to the locker room and collapses against the bench by his side.

His back slams against the lockers loudly, cool metal against his exposed skin where the tee doesn't cover. Head lolling back, Minseok screws his eyes shut and goes back to counting, hands clenching around his pant legs with a force that makes his knuckles go white.  
One, two, three...

Jongdae didn't mean to. Didn't mean to cause Minseok this worry that's eating away at him. He knows Jongin is fine, is working right now, and will be perfectly safe in his arms later. Will be perfect for him, there for him. But there's no one who goes under the radar in the system, anyone can go, at anytime, no matter what.

Minseok can't let Jongdae, younger than him and still not fully shaped by the way they live, see him clench his jaws together not to cry. Can't possibly allow Zitao, fresh out of school, to witness someone in his position sink down and bury his face in his hands. He lives with everything locked up inside of him, lets it cultivate and entwine, until all of the little things that happen in Minseok's life is a big mess. He can't separate the insignificant problems from each other, they're stuck in his throat and won't come up even when he heaves, sobs into his skin, his dry palms.

He's so attached to Jongin; he's stuck to his lips, to his eyes, to his thoughts. Almost addicted.  
Is this what they've been waiting for? The decline of everything, the slow end that their society has been progressing towards, where everything will crack and cut and kill.

Allowing himself one last minute, Minseok runs his fingers across his wet cheeks, rubs fiercely against his eyes and right below his nose. 

He's so fucking weak.

Minseok closes his eyes, takes a breath and holds it until his nose and throat feel less stuffy, until his thoughts are coherent enough for him to push up on his feet and find his locker number. He puts his mind into those digits, thinks in threes long enough for his heartbeat to fade out of his ears. His pulse isn’t slamming anymore, not loud enough for him to feel captivated by it. Fingers struggling with the classic metal lock, Minseok eventually manages to fumble the door open, get to his backpack. He can only hope no one has marked down his absence — Amber wouldn’t let it slip by a second time this month, and he knows how frowned upon it is to not be perfect.

The heat hits him hard once he gets back out into the dome, and he welcomes it. He wants all the distractions he can have, anything to excuse the red he knows will have crept into his eyes, the puffy rims and how his tongue will drag across his bottom lip to pull the attention away from his upper face. A habit he didn’t know he had until Jongin had pointed it out, brushed his thumb right below Minseok’s eyebrow.

To his relief, the first half of his shift is uneventful, sees him catching up on the work he’d slacked behind on in his short absence. He doesn’t pay attention at first to how clogged the air feels down his throat, the tickling sensation in his nose and lips, almost numbing. The fake sky above is a pleasant blue, but although Minseok knows there are other workers around, there’s no sound from any of them. 

The thumping in his head grows heavier, until the point where Minseok has to squeeze his eyes shut and rub his temples to try to alleviate it just a little. He searches through his backpack quickly, trying to locate the small box of painkillers he always stuffs in there, only to pick the wrong box. He blinks rapidly, the letters blurring in and out of focus. It is his small package of painkillers, labeled neatly by Jongin’s familiar writing, but the tablets in there aren’t. Hand digging through his bag again, he manages to grab the second plastic box, small enough to fit in his palm, and opens it. 

Inside the box meant for his anti-toxins pills are the ordinary, white painkillers, easily confused for the toxins pills. He opens the first box, finding his daily dosage of pills jammed into the package meant for his painkillers, and the sick realization hits him. If he had accidentally taken his painkillers instead this morning, that meant his body is currently vulnerable to even the slightest levels of toxins in the air.

He frowns, fingers twitching while he dumps his toxins pills into his palms with hurry, swallowing them down. Better late than never. When he lowers his arm, is strength gives out all at once, hand going limp for a second only to return to normal. Minseok clenches his fingers in surprise, tearing his gloves off clumsily in order to check the air quality in the dome. The numbers pop up on the ORD screen, nothing unusual, and he’s about to message Amber when a stiff cough forces its way up his throat. 

The coughing doesn’t stop, not even when Minseok can swear his throat is about to crack, mouth feeling dry. He stumbles against the nearest tree trunk, chest heaving as he throws up, rust on his tongue as an aftertaste. Fuck. Minseok wipes his mouth, stares at the red smeared all across his skin before hurrying away in the direction of the nearest Pass connection. There shouldn’t be any toxins in the air at all, if the Pass is working properly. That means either he’s just sick, mistaking the symptoms for early-stage toxins poisoning, or there’s something wrong where the Pass connects to the garden dome’s personal air filtration system.

His chest feels like it’s contracting, closing and opening irregularly as if attempting to choke him. Fingers digging into his thighs, he coughs again, mucus smearing across his upper lip and chin. No matter how much he wipes as he struggles forward, the red won’t go away. It feels stiff on his fingertips, an extra layer of skin or armor. The ORD doesn’t seem to respond to his insistent tapping, growing more panicked by the seconds. 

Loudly humming, the Pass machine appears roughly twenty meters ahead, and Minseok forces himself to run the last stretch. Despite the aching in his lungs, his throat, despite how every time he blinks the world seems to shift out of focus and throw itself at an angle. Once he’s reached the thick collection of cables and silver metal, Minseok locates the screen on its side. This time, technology doesn’t fuck with him, allowing him to log in and check on its status. The right side clicks, opens up so that he can take a closer look at the tubes running from the dome’s wall to the second part of the air filtration system. 

There’s nothing wrong, no cables wrongly connected or even a crack in a pipe. Minseok restarts the Pass screen, movements shaky as he goes through the information again. A small, red light goes off, flashing menacingly at him from the corner of the screen. 

“No, no, _no,_ ” Minseok slurs, makes one last click, and the red light goes out. Right after, the heavy sound of moving metal scrambles around him, and fat letters pop up. 

**Lockdown initiated.**

“I’m telling you _no_ —” he curses, stomach clenching as he chokes on the words. His throat feels so dry, voice cracking before he can even finish speaking. 

Amber’s code and name are displayed on his ORD just seconds later, the constant beeping only adding to his headache. He slams his finger down against the screen, trying to answer only to smear blood across the glass, and her caller ID disappears. Despair makes him give up on the ORD, once again trying to cancel the lockdown. If the doors close completely, he and whoever else is still in his section will be left for dead until the toxins the levels are back to normal, and he wouldn’t dare bet that his late dosage of medicine would be able to keep him alive that long. No matter how healthy someone is, the toxins makes any heart yield — he’d be dead within the hours.

“Come on— come _ON!_ ” He yells, as if the mechanics will actually listen to him, slide easily into place the way they’re supposed to. He makes it through another page of security, digging out passwords and instructions he’d been taught all those years ago when he was promoted. It feels like years, with the pounding in his head and the dizziness growing in strength, until the last box on the screen finally vanishes.

**Lockdown cancelled.**

He takes a deep breath, nausea still coming on strong as he navigates into the overview of the system. At first, it looks fine, nothing out of place. But where the air filtration system splits into each of the garden dome sections, the smaller systems designated to his area are all shut off. He stares blankly, trying to work out a reason why. They’re not ever shut off, the only reason that’s even an available option is to control the sections if a lockdown was to ever happen. Someone would have to manually cut off their supply of fresh air, and the only other people Minseok would deem capable of doing so would have no reason to. 

His legs are shaking, the heat hitting him hard and he shuts off the screen, sinks down on the ground until his head is nestled into the grass. It feels nice, cooling against the sweat dripping down his temples and lips. The ORD finally responds, and Minseok recalls the latest one he communicated with, Jongdae’s familiar voice on the other line sounding frighteningly soothing. 

“Jongdae— need you to get someone to—” he sucks in a breath, coughing dry against the dirt until his back is arching and fingers plunging into the earth. “C… Garden dome, _right now._ _Fuck._ Hurts like hell.” He allows himself a pause, hears Jongdae’s rushed speaking on the other end of the line. 

“The hospital— get someone over here. By Pass station in C. Amber knows where it is.” He rolls over on his stomach, moves his hand to rub his palm over the bare skin over his hips by slipping it underneath his top. His fingers feel warm, and he presses them gently into the dip between his ribs, then right below his navel. The knots drop heavy in his gut, makes him feel all twisted into himself. Makes him feel like shit.

His coughs fade into rustling breaths, nothing comes out, no sounds. It feels so perfect, to just stay knocked down, dig into the ground and stay there. Even the distant voices, the shouting, doesn’t seem like a bother at all. He’s drowning in his own head. He brings his fingers to his eyes, rubs at the tears before giving up, giving in. His face is a mess of red flush and sickly shine, hair sticking to the sweat. All he can do is hope the pills are still in his body, working magic somehow. He shouldn’t have been this careless, but the blame can’t be put on him.

It couldn’t have been an accident, not with the way the system is set up. So that everything will go smoothly, information of this level is controlled, because mistakes are unacceptable. They can’t have just anyone running around with the possibility of killing off their one source of food. He curls up further, stops blinking quickly in favor of just closing his eyes, wanting to fall asleep and go away.

_“Minseok!”_

They don’t go away. the voices, even when someone lifts him up. Someone who pulls him up into the air and for a moment he’s flying, before he crashes back down into his own chest. 

_“Minseok, don’t close your eyes, you hear me?”_

 

***

 

Minseok wakes up to an aching throat and blurry lights that melt before his eyes, sending his thoughts reeling and head back down against the pillow. Desperate for something to hold onto, he fumbles around until someone gets a hold of his hand, the tight grip causing Minseok to stop squirming.

“Minseok,” Jongin voice is soft, worried, and the younger man lets his second hand rest on top of their linked ones. Tracing out the dips between Minseok’s knuckles, he hunches over. There’s a crease between his brows that Minseok suspects must have been there for far too long. “Don’t move, okay? I’ll call someone over.”

It feels like hours before anyone enters the plain room. Minseok has been struggling with a crushing headache ever since he woke up, and whenever he tried to open his mouth to speak he was sent into a heavy coughing fit, bending over as shudders wrecked through him. Soothingly rubbing his hand up Minseok’s forearm, Jongin shuffles closer to the bed so that he can rest his head and arms on the mattress of the hospital bed. Seeking the warmth of Jongin’s touch, Minseok drags his fingertips down his lover’s cheek, to his lips. His eyes feel heavy, and if it wasn’t for the harsh sounds of footsteps approaching, Minseok would have let Jongin’s presence lull him back to sleep.

“Kim Minseok,” a voice calls from besides his bed, and Minseok forces his eyes open. Jongin holds onto him, Minseok’s smaller hand clasped in between Jongin’s. “I’m relieved to see you’ve woken up.” He doesn’t doubt for a second that the doctor had only said out of professionalism, to induce Minseok with a feeling of security and warmth. All Minseok feels is the chilling air and his aching throat.

“Now, you were brought in here a little less than a day ago.” The doctor, dressed in sky blue trousers and a dress shirt of the same color, pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Your throat has been damaged, but from what I can tell it’s not severe.. Your current condition is not life threatening, however I will provide you some pill options that will hopefully help with the pain in your throat and mouth. There’s no guarantee that it will help you recover your voice, but it is always worth a try.” 

Striding forward, the doctor in blue circles his bed, checking on the numbers displayed on the screen attached to the wall. “Your pulse has returned to normal, at least… It was quite irregular a few hours ago.”

He turns around, continuously tapping the end of his pen against the documents in his hand.  
“I’ll have you remain here until noon, just to make sure that nothing drastic happens. After that, I will provide you with your medicine and its instructions, and then you’ll be off. I wouldn’t want to keep you from work too long, especially since your condition appears stable. If you have something important to say, you’ll have to write it down. Make sure to get a proper amount of sleep to help your healing.”

Jongin frowns, his grip on Minseok’s hand flexing in aggravation for a second. 

“You’re just going to send him off?” He asks, a bite to his tone. “He came in here coughing blood and passed out! He’s been out for over a day, and you call his condition stable?” Minseok squeezes Jongin’s hand in return, gives him a slight shake of his head before turning to the doctor. There was no possibility that Minseok could ever— could ever tell Jongin about what happened, about why he’s even there in the first place. Of course he’s alive. 

You can’t reprimand someone if they’re dead.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Kim, that was a decision made by someone other than me. I’d suggest you don’t cause too much of a ruckus around here, it could interfere with other patients’ well-being as much as your partner’s.” The doctor gives them a final, wary look, and then exits out of the room. He sweeps on the blue coat that had been slung over his arm, and for a second he looks like the sky in the Garden Dome. Minseok hums, but the sound stings and he settles for Jongin’s reassuring murmurs.

“They wouldn’t tell me what happened to you,” Jongin starts, crouched over the edge of the hospital bed to close the distance between him Minseok just a little more. “I got a call in the middle of a class, and I rushed over but at first they didn’t even let me into the room. Through the glass you—” Jongin presses his lips together, and Minseok lifts his unoccupied hand in order to stroke his fingers over Jongin’s temple, right over his dark baby hairs. “You looked so fragile.”

With what strength he can muster, Minseok drops his hand from Jongin’s hair and gestures towards the simple table at the side of the bed. He points towards the sole sheet of paper, and Jongin hands it over to him along with the ball-point pen lying next to it. 

“If you’re going to tell me you’re okay, I’ll be upset with you, Minseok.” Jongin mutters, but watches in interest as Minseok manages to write messily across the paper, supporting it against his palm.

**_Could have happened to anyone. Lucked out._ **

Jongin eyes him with disapproval when Minseok places the paper in his hands again, clearly disagreeing. Meanwhile, Minseok drags his fingertips slowly over the bob of his adam’s apple, wincing with his face twisted in discomfort as the ache inside of his throat jolts. He reckoned the coming weeks before his full recovery would be awful without any kind of speaking capacity — he couldn’t exactly whip out a sheet of paper every time he needed to get something said. The ORD would, hopefully, suffice.

Despite insisting on spending Minseok’s remaining hours in the hospital together with him, Jongin was eventually forced to head back to his classroom, leaving Minseok with even less to do and nothing to accompany him but the unhomely walls and chrome furniture. One of the few doctor assistants in his hallway passed by his room every hour, eventually telling him that he would be released within the next thirty minutes. She handed over the documents that had recorded his stay as well as instructions on how to properly care for his body as well as how heavy his dosage of medicine would be. 

Flipping through the labeled papers, Minseok had his clothing returned to him, reeking of sweat, blood and vomit, but he somehow found it better than the sterile, pale blue that the staff had dressed him in. 

“If any complications arise, please return immediately so that we can correct the issue before it becomes a problem.” the doctor says as he sent Minseok off back to his floor, eyes straying briefly to the gardener’s stained clothing. Minseok pursed his lips.

What bothered him was that there was no mentions of toxins whatsoever in the reports he had received. Not only had the hospital staff refused to disclose any information to Jongin — which was more than reasonable — but they hadn’t provided Minseok with a full explanation for his condition either. If anyone had the right to know what exactly had sent that purification sub-system tripping, it was him. Never, throughout his entire career of working in the garden system, had he encountered anything like it. The program had flat out refused to cooperate, the screen malfunctioning for several minutes before, out of the blue, working as well as any other day. Minseok had a gut feeling he wasn’t going to get any answers.

Back at his own square, he sheds his uniform and drops it on the bathroom floor. He’d have to get it washed as soon as possible, but at least he had an extra that would last him until then. The hot water stings at first, Minseok’s body soaking up the warmth until his muscles finally give in and start to relax. He rubs his underarms, his fingers and shoulders, all the way up to his cheeks and temples, beating out the stiffness in his body until he feels dizzy. Disappearing down the drain, the soap takes with it what feels like a transparent layer of grime all over him.

The mirror is foggy, and Minseok drags his palm through the dimness. Underneath his eyes are heavy bags, his lips chapped along the inner seams and Minseok vaguely recalls biting down before passing out. He hadn’t realized it then, but he must have bit through the skin several times. Now, standing naked and aching and somewhat clear-headed, Minseok wonders if it was the toxins that had numbed him to that extent, on top of sending him head-first into a hospital bed. 

He sends a glance in the direction of his ORD, left on the lowest bathroom shelf, and he plays with the idea of messaging Jongdae. Would he know by now? Would he be able to at least give Minseok an answer that would leave him satisfied, and not confused and frustrated? He doubted it.

Minseok spent the rest of the day holed up at home, having been given clear instructions not to return to his job until the next day. He settles down on the sofa after making sure to drop his uniform off at the washing room of his floor, but even the book in his hands can’t seem to take his mind off things, and he gives in.

**Have you heard anything?**

His ORD text is an obnoxiously bright blue that, coupled with his headache, Minseok has never been as bothered by as now. He rubs his fingers along his forehead, following the line of dark hair. Jongdae doesn’t take long to reply.

**Nothing for tonight. You okay?**

Before Minseok can even respond, another message is visible in the small inbox.

**There was nothing wrong with that sub-system in C, I checked it myself, but the controls were cut off. No one had access to it.**

His fingers clench into a fist, and Minseok lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

**Delete that. I’ll catch up with you in a few days. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.**

Minseok makes sure to erase the log, hoping that enough hours will pass so that it can’t be retrieved. If it got out that Jongdae had let out important information, it wouldn’t end with just a demotion.

The door slides open just a few minutes later, and Jongin drops whatever was in his hands. It must have been the look in Minseok’s eyes, because Jongin is by him, taking a hold of his clenched hands just as Minseok places the ORD on the table. Minseok buries his face in the crook of Jongin’s neck, and he knows that Jongin can feel him trembling beneath his fingertips, can hear the way the words choke up in his throat. He has so many things to say — the power of it hits Minseok square in the chest, his breath clogged up and he coughs, keeping still in Jongin’s embrace. Jongin cards his fingers through Minseok’s hair, pressing his lips against the elder’s temple.

“Minseok,” he says. “Look at me.” Jongin waits until Minseok tilts his head up, cheeks flushed and eyebrows pulled together. “You’re okay, it’s only me here, you’re okay.” And this is what Minseok needs; he doesn’t need a warm shower, a book or even Jongdae’s suspicious being confirmed. He needs Jongin, there with him. Minseok’s bottom lip is red from his teeth worrying at it, heart racing in his chest and Jongin soothes him, calms him down. He pushes slowly at the growing anxiety tugging at Minseok’s attention.

“I was scared,” Minseok admits for the first time, both to himself and to Jongin. He who is always composed, smiling, and who so seldom puts his emotions into words. “I almost panicked, and for a moment I— I just…” Thought that no one would find him. That by the time they did, his heart would have stopped, dead eyes looking at the fake colors of the sky. He thought the toxins would rip him apart from inside out until there would be nothing left for anyone to even attempt to save. Minseok wills himself to loosen his grip on Jongin’s shirt, but he still clings to him, lets himself be spoiled and have that relief he’s been craving.

“It’s okay, Minseok.” Jongin murmurs, and Minseok knows it is. “It’s okay to be scared.”

Minseok wants to believe him.

 

***

 

When Minseok wakes up sore, an endless ache running through his every limb, there's only one question on his mind — who had access to the Pass system within the garden dome? Rather than self-satisfying curiosity, the incident points towards something more important than a single mistake. It's simply impossible to initiate a lockdown, because the security system is layered with password after password, fingerprint checks. If someone has access to the Pass security system, it's because the higher-ups have granted them that privilege.

Minseok clenches his fingers together, lifts his hands up to discern the outline of his hands in the dark room. Besides him, Jongin is still sleeping heavily, arm curled possessively around the elder's waist, their legs tangled together. His eyes drift over to the clock on the nightstand — there's still another hour before he even has to get up in order to make it to his pre-lunch shift. Carefully unwrapping himself from Jongin's warm touch, Minseok pushes himself off the bed, bending down briefly to press a kiss to the crown of Jongin's head as the younger man stirs.

"Go back to sleep," Minseok murmurs, the words scratchy in his throat and he strokes his thumb across Jongin's cheekbone before grabbing a t-shirt discarded on the floor.

He tries to remain quiet as he shuffles through the cabinets in the kitchen, putting on the coffee brewer, its hum too loud for the quiet of the morning. It's not until he's seated by the table, papers in his hands, that he realizes how dry his throat is. The coffee makes it worse and he curls inwards, coughing into the crook of his arms as his fingers grip a little too tightly around the hospital documents, and they crease beneath the weight. He pushes his cup away, still more than half-full, and focuses on the documents the doctor had handed him instead.

Despite Minseok's earlier comment, Jongin slips into the kitchen barely half an hour after him, settling down on the chair by his side. Leaning over, Jongin rests his head on Minseok's shoulder, lets the elder rub his back gently along his spine, strong fingers soothing against his stiff back.

"I don't think that the text is somehow going to change just because you've read it over and over," Jongin mutters, blinking blearily as Minseok pushes the documents into a neat pile, letting them slide across the surface of the table to where his coffee mug stands abandoned.

"No lasting damage, the doctor—" Minseok is interrupted by another coughing fit, eyes shutting hard and brows furrowed. Fuck that hurts. Jongin's reaction is immediate, wrapping an arm around Minseok's shoulder, keeping him still in his chair as Jongin's free hand cups one side of Minseok's face.

"Does it still hurt? Your throat?" Jongin urges, worry thick in his voice. Minseok brushes it off.

"I'll be fine, it should pass— soon. I'm just..." He tries swallowing with a grimace and settles for gesturing towards his neck. "Dry." Jongin purses his lips at Minseok's dismissive attitude.

 

"The doctor said to contact him if any complications—" he begins, palm moving down from Minseok's cheek to his wrist.

"It's hardly a—" Minseok takes a deep breath through his nose, fingernails digging into his own thigh. "Complication... If it gets worse..." He nods for himself. "We'll go."

Jongin, clearly unhappy, settles for running his fingers through Minseok's hair. He doesn't try to fill the silence by himself, and Minseok appreciates that. He loves Jongin, for all and forever, but he just wants some quiet, needs peace so that he can settle into himself again after the unfortunate incident in the garden dome.

"You shouldn't eat your medicine on an empty stomach, do you want me to cook you some scrambled eggs?" Jongin finally asks, and Minseok nods, squeezing Jongin's hand as he gets up from the chair. Minseok wanders back into the bedroom, gets out his clean uniform from a drawer before picking up his ORD, left on the table next to the alarm clock.

**Jongdae. Come by the dome today? Important.**

Minseok stuffs the ORD back in one of the front pockets on his uniform before heading back into the kitchen, greeted by the smell of food.

"Don't overwork yourself today, okay?" Jongin tells him as Minseok sits down again. "Just... I know they said you would be healed enough for work today, but I'm worried. You understand, right? Don't put any more pressure on your body for now." Jongin leans over, let’s Minseok press a kiss to his cheek.

"Promise." Minseok mumbles, giving Jongin a small smile. "Relax for me, then. Focus on yourself." And even if Jongin promises him, the way Minseok did to him, he suspects neither of them will do as assured. Between the two of them, Minseok suspects that whatever news he'll be able to extract from Jongdae will be far from pleasant, if any at all.

**I'll meet you during second break. Outside the locker room.**

Minseok checks his ORD, patting Jongin's thigh reassuringly, even as his throat stings.

 

"Minseok?" Jongdae calls out, the clock just past fifteen. Minseok raises his arm in a hello. "Glad to see you're still alive. I thought you'd be out for good, Amber told me you inhaled toxins." He smiles in a way that's supposed to be humorous, but their occupation makes Jongdae's joke anything but funny. "I thought I would have to pick your body up." His voice is brooding, and Minseok reaches out to push at his shoulder.

"I wouldn't... go like that," Minseok insists but with little confidence behind it. He follows up by patting his throat lightly, jaw clenched. "Sorry. My throat's messed up." 

Jongdae shakes his head. "Don't apologize over something like that. I'm just... I'm relieved you're okay." He hesitates, then takes another step closer. "Was there something you needed me for? We only meet up like this if... if something's off."

Minseok collects himself, breathes calmly.

"The Pass wasn't malfunctioning when I—" Minseok, feeling as if a thousand eyes are on his back, shifts uncomfortably where he stands. "When I got to it, the lockdown had been initiated by someone who knew the security system. There was no physical damage to the actual Pass, and the security hadn't been breached through hacking. It was so... clean."

Jongdae looks away then, face looking pale in the bright lights of the garden dome's inside halls.

There’s a click, the sound informing Minseok of the fact that Jongdae’s speaker is on, that right now whoever is at the other end can hear them. The sound startles them both, and their eyes are drawn to the ORD on Jongdae's wrist. Jongdae holds his hand away from his body, trying to muffle the speakers with his fingers. This is what they give up, with a job like theirs — privacy, security.

“Minseok,” Jongdae’s voice is sharp when he speaks up, a warning. “Don’t ask me questions you know I can’t answer. Even if it's you." And Minseok’s hand strays to the watch-like gear on his wrist, the small black button, the recording button, that would make it so easy for him to vanish into thin air. He could ruin both Jongdae and himself in a moment. He knows Jongdae is acting, that he needs to be convincing right at this moment, so that they'll make it through this. So that the higher-ups won't have reason to suspect either one of them further. Jongin would never know. Jongdae has a palm over his mouth, shuffling them towards the corner where two walls meet, and Minseok doesn’t resist. 

Minseok lowers his voice as much as he can, barely a whisper, right next to Jongdae's ear. His own hand is wrapped around his ORD, in case they turn on his speaker as well. “There are so many of them lately, so many sick ones. It was never like this before. And with what happened in the garden dome, if we just ignore this—” Minseok can’t finish before Jongdae’s lips are against his ear, breath warm: _“It’s shutting down. The purification system is shutting down.”_

Minseok wonders if it’s Jongdae’s body he’ll be carrying next, or the reverse.

 

***

 

Zitao disappears from the garden dome a day after Minseok's return, and Amber can't offer up a proper explanation despite how many times Minseok asks. It's not only unusual for workers to be replaced in such rapid succession, it's alarming. Minseok finds little comfort in the fact that because he remembers Zitao, he must still be out there. His vanishing is too coincidental, and Minseok spends his first week back in action with a watchful eye over his shoulder, at all times. He doesn't receive any messages from Jongdae during the two days since they talked, and at their shared night-shifts Jongdae just shakes his head if Minseok tries to bring anything up. 

It's driving him crazy.

Minseok expects Jongdae to elaborate, to get back to him. There's nothing, and Minseok spends his nights wrapped up in Jongin's arms, worried. His patience is wearing thin, every passing day only leading to more baseless speculations, more questions, more distractions. Then, finally, a week after Jongdae had let the secret slip, he seeks Minseok out in the middle of the day.

"I needed time," is the first thing Jongdae says, staring right back at Minseok. "I wasn't sure if they had heard me. I couldn't— I couldn't risk getting caught. You more than anyone know that." He hates to admit it, but he shouldn't be upset with Jongdae. Minseok's been walking on the edge for years now, and Jongdae even longer than that. If not for him, Minseok would have remained content with his life, with being censored and shuffled along.

"You could have told me," the elder replies, fixing the collar of his uniform. There's a streak of dirt across his cheek, sweat lining his forehead. Minseok wipes the back of his hand over his hairline, lips pressed together in disapproval.

"And then there's Baekhyun—" Jongdae begins, suddenly talking faster. "Shit, Minseok, you should have seen him. It's as if he's barely alive." Jerking his head up, Minseok looks back at Jongdae in confusion. "Baekhyun, wasn't he...?"

As he shakes his head, Jongdae's hand is naturally drawn to the ORD on his wrist, fidgeting uneasily. "We just assumed that, didn't we? That someone else had taken him. That he’s dead. I remember how torn up he was after Junmyeon, even if he couldn't figure out why. Then I saw him on my way to work and he grabbed my arm." Jongdae runs his fingers through his hair. "He asked, 'are you still working down at the Pass?' When I told him that yes, of course I am, he seemed really upset. Then he just... told me that maybe it's for the best."

Reaching out while taking a step forward, Minseok places his hand on Jongdae's upper arm, an awkward attempt to calm him down. It's not easy the way it is with Jongin, but Minseok tries. He rarely ever sees Jongdae shaken, so often cheered up by the younger's smile instead.

"Do you think he knows? About what you told me yesterday?" Minseok's grip tightens, eyes flickering to the corners of the hallway. Jongdae lifts his shoulders in a sloppy shrug.

"There's no way he could, right?" Jongdae lets out a heavy breath, brows furrowing. "Even _I_ don't know what's going on anymore."

"Don't read into it. It's common knowledge you can get sick from working down at the Pass. I'm sure he didn't mean it like that," Minseok insists, then asks. "Is there anything we can do? There has to be something, right?" His voice goes frantic, and he meets Jongdae’s eyes dead on. Jongdae quickly looks down, fidgets.

"Of course there is. There has to be a way. We won't die, there's no chance," he finally answers, and Minseok wishes he could swallow that reassurance up naively, just continue on as if Jongdae had never said anything, The dread churning in his gut isn't out of fear for himself. He can't let Jongin die. If he had to sacrifice everyone around him, any future, then he'd give that up for Jongin. He's ethereal; Jongin has to live.

"That wasn't why I called you here, though, Minseok." Jongdae lowers his hand from Minseok's shoulder, throws a look behind him. "Last time we met up, when I got upset with you… it was because during my Pass shift, I overheard something."

Minseok can tell that Jongdae would prefer to keep it to himself; Jongdae has already risked so much just to make sure Minseok knows all secrets, all the details of their lives on the Inside.

"What?" The elder asks, despite how he feels, despite what he thinks Jongdae feels. "What did you hear?"

Jongdae‘s face is apologetic, almost scared. "It was the higher-ups that organized that accident you were in. They had someone... I can't remember his name. It was Chinese, Tao something—" Jongdae is cut off by Minseok's sharp inhale, eyes flickering dark in an instant.

"Zitao. He left the day after." And Minseok feels the disappointment all the way into the hollows of his bones. He hadn't thought that Zitao would ever had a hand in something like that, something so fucking dangerous.

"They had him mess with the garden dome's Pass connections, so that they would temporarily stop functioning in your section. That's why you said you couldn't access anything at first, because they had you restricted." Jongdae continues and Minseok runs his hands up the side of his face, takes a moment for himself, ignoring the person next to him, everything. It feels as if he can’t breathe again.

“You don’t think it’s suspicious that they would speak about this so close to you?” Minseok argues, because he’s taken things at face value all of his life and recently it’s left him near-dead. “Who’s to say they don’t just want me, us, to believe that?”

Scowling, Jongdae raises his voice just a little bit, enough for Minseok to understand he doesn’t appreciate being mistrusted. “I know that much, but how else would you explain being sent to the hospital because of a malfunctioning Pass system? The data aspects are working fine, what is out of order are the actual machines. You told me the security system hadn’t been hacked, and the physical Pass system was in a stable condition, which means the only cause of that lockdown could have been an order from the higher-ups.” He’s speaking so fast Minseok can barely keep up. “Someone was given access to be able to initiate that lockdown.”

“I don’t… Fuck, Jongdae. I don’t want to believe something like that,” Minseok groans, rubbing his eyes harshly before leaning back against the wall. “I was hurt by the toxins. Couldn’t the toxins have set it off and I was too out of it to realize I was pressing the wrong buttons?”

The younger shakes his head, and then tells Minseok what he had been hoping not to hear, secretly wishing that everything was still perfectly safe, perfectly okay. “Minseok, I told you this… The Pass system isn’t functioning well anymore; the toxin levels in the air has increased tremendously just over the past year. The higher-ups think no one has noticed, because the change was so gradual, but all of us who work down there… We see them trying to cover it up.

“That’s why they doubled the amount of toxin resistance pills about a year ago. And the workers are all walking on a tight line, they know they can’t bring any problems up unless that want to create risks for themselves, even if they don’t know the consequences the way we do.” The longer he goes on, the faster he speaks. Jongdae’s fingers keep clenching around the hem of his shirt, letting go before repeating the action. His worry, usually locked so deep beneath his skin, is seeping into his fingertips.

Minseok eyes him warily, wiping the back of his neck briefly in hope to cool the skin. He feels warm, reliving the heat of toxins pressing against his lungs. He doesn’t want to believe it, but it has never been an option for him, for Jongdae. “If there’s a dangerous level of toxins in the air, why aren’t people just keeling over? Why aren’t people dying in their sleep?”

Jongdae nods, as if he had expected the question. His shoulder sag, most likely relaxing from a breath held too long. Minseok wonders if he is unconsciously trying to avoid breathing Inside air. 

“Right now, the toxin levels are still enough for our bodies to process, and the higher-ups are counting on the scientists to find a solution to everything before our bodies reach the limit of what they can handle. That must be why you’re suffering from toxin damage, despite the fact that the level in the air wasn’t high enough to set off a lockdown on its own.

“The systems were updated a while back to not react until a higher percentage of toxins could be detected in the air, but I can’t recall exact numbers,” Jongdae finishes.

“So if I had just taken my medicine like usual, I could have avoided all of this?” Minseok inquires, probing at Jongdae’s explanation in order to find a loophole. He’s lived here all of his life, longer than Jongdae, longer than Jongin, even Amber and Yifan. He’s valuable. He has to be. 

“I don’t think they would have let a coincidence like that decide. You carry your pill box with you, isn’t that right? Your code is information they have. They could have easily given your lock’s code to Zitao and had him switch two doses of medicine so that the effects would really hit you once you returned outside.” Jongdae looks as upset as Minseok feels inside — betrayed, not by Zitao but by anyone who had ever given him an order. Had Baekhyun known this was coming for him? 

“Zitao’s a good kid,” the elder mutters, rubbing the sides of his nose. “I don’t… I highly doubt he had a say in all of this. He’s just following commands, like he’s supposed to.” At that Jongdae smiles, and Minseok wonders if they have even come close to realizing the full extent of what consequences could lie ahead. He shouldn’t even be surprised.

Not when he has carried people off to death for less.

“I never said I blame Zitao. You’ve always had a weak spot for people younger than you. You’re soft.” Jongdae’s voice trembles. “So you should look out for Jongin, too. He’s my friend as well.”

Minseok jerks, eyes wide. “They’d take him from me, wouldn't they? If I messed up again. Or the other way around, if they felt like I was unnecessary." He had seen that happen, when they needed someone around and opted to remove a partner in their stead. 

Minseok would never be able to mourn over him, Jongin would be nothing. For the first time in his life, Minseok wishes he had replacements. He wishes there were more people opted for this job, more people that lacked sympathy, more people that could follow orders as if they were made just for that. He’d been straying too far off that path - he couldn’t remember the last time he looked down at a body in his arms and felt nothing, not since Changmin.

"I can't say," Jongdae responds, referring to Jongin. "There's no way to tell. But do you remember what you told me, back when I just started? We’re meant to be perfect, but we can’t be.” 

Of course Minseok remembers, and it feels so natural that Jongdae would choose to bring that up now, when they are making careless mistake after careless mistake. Minseok has had all of his flaws delicately exposed, and now they’re being used against him. Every weakness. Perfection was the only shield that made him able to protect the life he had come to love.

“I want to live, Minseok. You’re not the only one who has something to protect, you know? So I understand what you’re going through, and I’m scared too. I don’t want to have to give up everything I have over a single mistake, even if that’s hypocritical of me.” 

Jongdae’s smile suddenly seems so much brighter, too good for death and defeat. “When I saw Baekhyun, I felt so relieved.” And Minseok finally understands, sucks in a sharp breath and watches Jongdae’s smile fall right off, leaving him bitter. “It’s not too late for anything yet.”

"Thank you," Minseok says. "For… telling me." When Minseok looks up at him, there's a sense of defeat in his eyes that Jongdae has never seen there before. "We should stop, just for a while. Lets not meet outside of our night shifts, because I can't drag Jongin into this too.”  
Minseok thinks back to Kyungsoo, to the photo of Chanyeol under his pillow that they had missed, the lack of punishment that had come their way. If everything Jongdae has told him is true, the two of them hadn't been excused, instead, the system had bided their time. Minseok feels sick.

But he knows where he went wrong.

"Just... be careful, okay?" Jongdae leaves him with those words, and Minseok turns around, running his fingers up the length of his aching throat. He hurries back to his section, ignores the urge to call Jongin, even if he needs him. 

He needs Jongin’s soft smile against his cheek, his gentle hands massaging the worry out of Minseok's muscles. Lately, the burden on his shoulders has felt heavier than ever.

 

He returns back home straight after the shift, entering a reminder into the ORD so that he’ll stop by the hospital section tomorrow in time to have a check-up.

"Jongin," Minseok greets him, threading his fingers together with the younger's as he takes a seat by him on the sofa. Jongin hums but doesn't look up from the papers in his hand, his other hand stroking Minseok's thigh. Leaning forward, Minseok pinches Jongin's upper arm, rewarded with a squeal as Jongin brushes him away. "It's important, can you listen?" The elder adds.

Jongin places the paperwork on the table, arms opening up so that Minseok can settle in against his side, despite looking away from Jongin's eyes. "What's the matter?" Jongin murmurs as he begins to play absentmindedly with an unruly lock of Minseok's brown hair. There's a moment of silence before Minseok takes Jongin's free hand into his again, tracing out his knuckles before turning his face up.

"Nothing's wrong," Minseok lies. "I was thinking... during my shift today." Jongin laughs, teases Minseok, then throws his arm over his shoulders.

"Shifts are for working, not for thinking," he responds and watches Minseok furrow his brow. Placing the tip of his finger between Minseok's eyebrows to make him relax, Jongin tilts his face down and uses his palm to rub Minseok's shoulder.

Minseok can't help but smile, not when Jongin is right there, trying so hard to cheer him up. "You know that's not what I meant."

"Tell me then," Jongin urges, tangling their legs together while leaning back against the sofa. "I'm always here to listen." He must have said it a thousand times by then, and still Minseok can feel his heart drop.

"I want us to sign the marriage registration form… and send it in," Minseok whispers, giving up on himself in the last minute. Jongin stares at him, but Minseok can't tell whether it's in confusion or something else, something worse.

Jongin doesn't let go of him. "Did something happen today?" He asks. 

Shuffling back slightly in his seat, Minseok gives him a quizzical look, then shrugs. "Not anything worth mentioning. Still... I ask you to get registered with me and the first thing you ask is if something happened?"

While chuckling softly, Jongin presses a kiss to Minseok's temple. "I'm just curious. I thought we wouldn't ever do it, because it didn't seem important to you. And in the end, we are good just the way we are, isn't that right?" He hesitates. "And I don't want you to do this just because you feel you have to, or because of some dumb, external factor."

Looking at him with fondness, borderline awe, Minseok wonders what he's done to deserve someone like Jongin. Wonders if he has any right to be selfish enough to want to tie him down for half of a lifetime. 

"You don't want to…? It would be nice, wouldn't it? To be in the system as… a pair." Because the system is the only thing with value on the Inside. Minseok remembers reading about extravagant wedding ceremonies before the toxins forced them to take cover, about rings and vows. 

There's nothing like that now — a ring would have no meaning, because in the end, it could be lost. The only promise that could remain past death is an approved marriage-registration application.

"Minseok... a registration lasts for forty years, are you sure you'd want me for long? You'd have no second choices,” Jongin mumbles. "It's not that i don't want to, but we don't have to make this decision now. We have lots of time together, and there's no rush, no one is forcing us to do anything. I'm not going to love you less simply because we aren't registered as a married couple." It seems so obvious when Jongin puts it like that, that they can have everything together even if they stay the way they are, roommates in every crook of the system's data.

"I don't think I'll ever want someone the way I want you," Minseok insists, watches the way Jongin's cheeks flush red even if he remains so calm, so thoughtful. "I'm asking you this because I love you." He tries to not sound panicked, because Jongin would catch him. Desperate for that solid reassurance, Minseok links their fingers again. It's so real, in that moment, Jongin's small smile, the way his dark eyes seem older than his age, his touch warm and allaying.

"I'll pick up the forms tomorrow, and then we'll sign them together later, yes?" The younger asks, pressing a kiss to Minseok's cheek.

Minseok looks at Jongin, lets the weight of his boyfriend’s hand on his thigh keep him anchored there. “Yes,” he answers, looking down at their hands where Jongin is brushing the elder’s finger with his own. “That’s perfect.”

 

***

 

Minseok heads towards the hospital section the moment he’s dismissed from his last shift, briefly saying goodbye to Amber on his way out. He manages to send off a reminder to Jongin to pick up the forms on his way back from work, scrolling through his restricted messages right after. It’s completely empty, not even a note from Jongdae, and it makes his stomach drop. 

He’s made to wait for thirty minutes after signing in for his booked check-up, left seated in a room with light blue walls and a white floor. There are chairs lined up neatly in rows, back to back, three people working behind the desk, seemingly busy with the documents in their hands. Minseok’s deep into a half-slumber by the time footsteps echo across the room, his eyes flying open and posture straightening. He’s expecting his doctor.

Jongdae’s standing across the room, a woman dressed in a blue coat facing him and handing over an orange-colored bottle. There’s something off about the way Jongdae’s standing, curled into himself and even from across the room, Minseok can see how tightly he’s holding onto the bottle, muscles straining. He bites his lip, sinking into his chair in hope Jongdae won’t see him. He’s not sure he wants to know, even if a thousand speculations are buzzing at the back of his head, but Jongdae still turns around. He turns around and he meets Minseok’s eyes and for a moment all sounds seem louder, the air is thick.

Jongdae’s mouth forms a surprised ‘o’ before his jaw clenches and he shoves the bottle into the pocket on his uniform shirt. He stops, nods in Minseok’s direction, and then rushes off before Minseok can even think to say anything. 

“Kim Minseok?” The same doctor as the one that had overseen his last stay appears from a second hallway and Minseok glances over at the woman Jongdae had spoken to, sees her disappear out of his view. Minseok stands up, walks over to the doctor and shakes his hand courteously before before being led into one of the many rooms along the hallway. It’s notably smaller than the room he had been put in after his accident.

“So, Mr. Kim, are there any complications that you would be able to tell me right off the bat?” The doctor asks, Minseok trying to catch the name on his tag, a name that had already slipped of his mind since his last visit. Minseok grimaces, gesturing towards his throat.

“It’s been acting up… aching like hell. It hurts to talk.” He stops, rubbing at the skin right above his collarbones as if he could ease the rasp of words. “A lot worse today than… yesterday.” Minseok’s chest heaves with another heavy cough and the doctor steps forward, confusion clear in his eyes.

“I suggest you remain as silent as possible during the check-up. Don’t strain yourself unless necessary, since I don’t know what kind of damage it is.” 

The check-up doesn’t take too long, most of the tests making sure his that his reflexes and his senses are working properly after being in contact with the toxins. Minseok’s made to look at thick letters on a paper screen far away, he’s instructed to listen to various noises and is subjected to blood tests and temperature measuring, and by the end of it he’s almost exhausted.

“Mr. Kim…” The doctor, done organizing the forms he’d been filling out throughout the entire check-up, turns to face Minseok where he’s sitting on a plastic chair. “You have not been straining your vocal chords as of lately, is that correct?” The man asks, pen ready in his hand and when Minseok shakes his head, he crosses off a box on the paper. 

“I’ve been talking but… Mostly on the job, I can’t get away with using my ORD all the time. The messages sometimes get delayed in the garden dome, but the techs haven’t figured it out yet,” Minseok explains, the doctor scribbling light-handedly on the papers in his hands. “But I’ve tried to keep it to a minimum.”

“Then, I’ll make the assumption that the toxins you inhaled during your recent… incident, are what is causing difficulties with your speaking. I can’t say for sure exactly how they are affecting you, because as you can assume, we don’t have prior data to go by. I’m expecting your condition to worsen, judging by your comments about how this problem has made itself known.”

Minseok sucks in a breath, nails digging into his thigh as he leans forward. “What do you mean by,” he says slowly, ignores the way it stings, “ _expecting_ my condition to worsen?” He doesn’t want to hear it. The doctor sighs, pulling his lips into what should be an apologetic smile.

“It means that in my opinion as a doctor, it’s likely that you will lose your voice completely within a short span of time, but I do not have the amount of medical data I wish I had in order to back that statement up.” 

Minseok falls back in his chair and the next thing on his lips is, “Jongin.”

Sending him a concerned look, the doctor finally puts the files down. “The one who stayed with you, yes? I can imagine that this will be quite a drastic change, but with your ORD it shouldn’t affect your ability to work at all. So, there’s no need to stress.”

It hits Minseok that this man will never understand. Minseok’s worry doesn’t lie within whether or not he will be able to support the system that he is part of, or if he will be able to relay orders as smoothly as before — he’s thinking of Jongin.

He’s thinking of how he might never be able to whisper into Jongin’s ear, wrapped up in the smell of ink and shower gel, how much he loves him. How he won’t be able to greet Jongin with a soft good morning whenever he enters the kitchen. All he’ll have to give are the press of his fingers and paper notes, more words on paper for Jongin’s tired eyes.

And it’s his own fault.

“Thank you, doctor,” Minseok finally says, masking the bitterness stuck at his lips. He can taste it. “For your consideration.”

When the doctor smiles, this time, it’s genuine. He wants to hate him, so badly, but this man is not like him or Jongdae. He’s grown up sheltered, he doesn’t know why the words he’s saying aren’t the ones Minseok want to hear. The doctor leads him out, tells him on the way that since there are no medicines meant for reversing the damage done by toxins he can’t help him further, but they still schedule another appointment within the month just to see if his condition will improve.

“I could be in the wrong,” the man says, and Minseok finally remembers to read his name tag. Kim Seokjin. “Only time will tell.”

 

By the time Minseok stumbles into his home, he feels drained of all energy. Jongin is by his side quickly, brushing stray strands of hair out of his face and placing tender kisses along his cheek.

“How did it go? What did the doctor say?” He asks, taking Minseok’s hand and linking their pinkies together while dragging him towards the couch. There’s a relatively thick batch of pastel pink papers placed at the end of the table, in bold black letters the first one is titled: Marriage Registration Form. Jongin bends forward, picks up a pen and the documents before scooting over to sit next to Minseok.

“Jongin,” Minseok murmurs, head lolling against Jongin’s shoulder and he curls against him, fingers splayed out over the younger’s thigh. “I’m sorry, Jongin. I’m sorry. I fucked up.” Burying his face against the slope of Jongin’s shoulder, Minseok refuses to look up, even as Jongin gently prods at him with fingers against the curve of his jaw.

“What do you mean, you’re sorry?” Jongin asks with a sense of urgency, finally managing to tilt Minseok’s face up so their eyes can meet. “What happened?”

The elder leans into his touch, considers telling Jongin something different. A kinder lie.

“The doctor told me he suspects that I’ll lose my voice completely.” Fingertips running up the length of Jongin’s arm, Minseok places his hand over the one Jongin holds against his cheek, pressing it against his face. 

“What do you mean? They can’t fix it? There has to be a way! They’re doctors; they should know—” Jongin is rambling and Minseok just shakes his head and reaches out. He cups Jongin’s face with his hand, follows the angles of his jaw and down his neck before gently patting his chest.

Minseok purses his lips together, wishes it was as easy as that. Their resources are so limited, medication rare. They wouldn’t give it to him over something as _trivial_. The System always has priorities, and he’s not one of them. Maybe he was, at one point in his life, but Minseok doubts he’ll be able to shrug their suspicion off. 

“They’re not miracle workers, Jongin. There are things they can’t do.” 

“It’s not fair.” Jongin isn’t supposed to be crying, but he is, seeking Minseok’s warmth. The elder takes him into his arms. He’s not worried; as long as he can still be there for Jongin, he’ll get by. It’s so simple. 

“The System’s not fair, Jongin,” Minseok’s voice is sharp, and Jongin’s fingers dig into his wrist harshly.

“But it’s _supposed_ to be, Minseok! That’s why it exists, so everyone can be given equal opportunities! Not so they can deny you the health treatment you need!” It’s Minseok he’s raising his voice at, but the elder knows it’s not _him_ that Jongin is looking to antagonize. 

Minseok raises his hands, runs them down Jongin’s arm to pacify him, eyes soft. “Do you think we have resources for that? To provide everyone with everything they’ll ever need? This isn’t the Outside, Jongin. We will never be able to live like that, in surplus.”

“But don’t… don’t spend your time feeling bad for me. I’ll adjust, and eventually, I’ll be okay. Right now, lets fill out those forms.” Minseok kisses his forehead, rubs his thumbs underneath Jongin’s eyes to catch a tear or two, making sure he smiles as he leans in for a kiss. “Don’t be sad, I have everything I’ll ever need.” 

Jongin’s smile is small, but it’s everything. “Do you still want to do this? It’s a big commitment.” He asks, waving the docmuments in front of Minseok, as if there was any doubt left. Minseok holds his hands out and Jongin hands him a number of papers and a pen. “If we hand these in, you’ll be stuck together with me.” And Minseok laughs then, hides the way he coughs behind his hands before rubbing Jongin’s thigh to calm him.

“How many times do I have to tell you that I love you before you understand that there’s nothing I want more?” The elder asks and Jongin leans in for another kiss, greedily pressing his hand against the small of Minseok’s back.

“Tell me again,” he begs, and Minseok knows that tone, husky against the elder’s lips. Minseok’s cheeks flush, his fingers digging into the crook of Jongin’s neck.

“After we answer these questions,” Minseok promises, teasingly pecking the corner of Jongin’s mouth just to hear him whine. “We better get to work. This is an intimidating amount of papers, and I was planning on handing them into the office tomorrow before my shift starts.” 

The first two pages are easy, only requiring information such as full name, date of birth, occupation and current numbers of his square and floor. 

“The adoption papers must be ten times as many,” Minseok mutters, and Jongin jerks, looks up at him with wide eyes. 

“You want to adopt?”

Hurrying to explain himself, Minseok lets the form remain temporarily forgotten in his hands. “No, I was just thinking about Lu Han and—” he cuts himself off, face going pale and Jongin raises his eyebrows. 

“Lu who?” He asks, and Minseok quickly crouches back over his papers, curses himself tenfold for such a slip-up. Jongin stays silent, perhaps expecting a proper answer and Minseok wishes he could give it to him, despises keeping Jongin in the dark like this.

“It was nothing,” Minseok waves the forms again. “Come on, back to work.”

Jongin doesn’t pay it any mind, but the slip of tongue remains at the back of Minseok’s mind as the younger flips through the pages, neat handwriting piling up in the answer blanks.

 

***

 

The next morning they stop by one of the smaller offices on a floor below the living quarters, Jongin accompanying him for once as they hand in the marriage registration forms. There’s a few questions asked, just to confirm their identities and make sure everything is entered correctly. The lady gives them a smile when she finally turns around from one of the larger screens, the red light indicating that the paper scanner is on going dark.

“That should be it,” she says, handing the papers back to them. She waves at them when Jongin hooks their arms together, the younger one of the two saying goodbye for them both, Minseok opting for a nod.

In the beginning, all of the paper forms had been stored neatly in a larger office, but the impracticality of the system soon grew obvious and it was reformed into a digital one. Now they get to keep the forms, most couples choosing to wrap them carefully as a memorabilia — Minseok remembers his teacher likening it to the way post-disaster couples would wear rings after becoming a married couple. It sounds far too impractical to him, too unreliable.

With the weeks passing, Minseok’s next doctor appointment comes and goes, every day leaving him with fewer words. A young kid named Sehun takes Zitao’s shifts at the garden dome, and Minseok spends a long month teaching him the ins and outs. Sehun has so many questions, which is good, but sometimes Minseok feels like he’ll talk his ears right off. He finds out little things along the way, ones that stick even if Minseok is not the best at holding conversations. Like how Sehun remembers Jongin from his school class, and how Sehun had originally wanted to be a scientist. Minseok eases into a teacher-student relationship before he realizes, the gap left by Yifan, by Zitao, effortlessly filled.

“It’s nice,” Jongin says one evening, just a short while until curfew, “to see you smiling so much. You almost stopped, for a while. After Kyungsoo called that one time in the middle of the night, you seemed so upset. I wasn’t… I wasn’t sure what to tell you, or why you were acting so off.” Pressing a kiss to Minseok’s bare shoulder, Jongin rubs his fingers into Minseok’s sore muscles, the elder’s back turned against him on the couch.

“You were perfect,” Minseok tells him, bringing his hand to his lips so he can kiss Jongin’s knuckles. “I don’t always know what to do either, but that’s okay. We’ll learn along the way.”  
Jongin hums contently, leaving another kiss on Minseok’s neck, tilting his forehead against his shoulder. His hands are still busy working at Minseok’s aching body, something they allow themselves to indulge in every now and then. 

With a groan, Minseok arches his back and twists away from Jongin’s touch once he pushes a little too hard and Jongin hurriedly murmurs an apology. “Too hard? Does it hurt a lot?”

“It’s fine, I just carried a lot of fruit today. I should have been more careful but one of the pick-up vehicles was out of order and the mechanic told me it wouldn’t be fixed until tomorrow.” Minseok makes a displeased face, turning around enough to face Jongin. “I had to carry most batches together with Sehun, it took a toll on us both.”

Jongin puts some more cream on his hands, goes back to carefully massaging Minseok, his fingers dipping below Minseok’s ribs, Jongin grinning cheekily as he rests his chin on the slope of Minseok’s shoulder. “We can take it easy,” he teases and Minseok mocks him with a gasp, shoving at the younger’s shoulder. “You’re such a brat.”

“Maybe,” Jongin lets his hand follow the lines of Minseok’s muscles, nuzzling into his skin. His breath is hot against Minseok’s tan back and the elder catches his wrist.

“Later,” he promises, and Jongin looks at him with dark eyes as he goes back to rubbing the cream into Minseok’s skin, leaving behind a pleasantly warm buzz. 

Minseok’s ORD goes off on the table, vibrating once before flashing and Jongin reaches out for it but Minseok gets to it first. Their hands collide and Jongin looks at him in surprise as the elder snatches the ORD up, turning towards Jongin so that the screen won’t be visible. Making sure to murmur a quick apology, Minseok accesses the restricted inbox as Jongin goes back to rubbing circles into the brunet’s exposed back.

**Alert C. Kim Jongdae: Floor E, Square 1004.**

_Oh._

Minseok stops breathing.

Of course. Of course this was going to happen. Kim Jongdae, so insistent in seeking the truth, never content in being told to live peacefully among the lies. Minseok’s not like him, in so many aspects — Minseok has a reason to keep quiet, to never raise more suspicion than absolutely necessary.

“Minseok?” Jongdae inquires delicately. “Is everything okay?” And Minseok wishes he was as good at lying as he was months ago, no matter how conflicted he felt about it, because it’s so fucking devastating to have to look into Jongin’s dark eyes as if he’s fine.

“Yeah,” he breathes, but his voice is trembling. “I have to go make a late round down at the dome, they raised today’s quota for the citrus fruits. I’ll be back before you know it, okay?”  
The smell of oranges to cover the reeking scent of death.

Jongin furrows his brows. “Right now? The curfew is in less than fifteen minutes. It makes no sense that they would make you leave now.” He grumbles, one leg swung across Minseok’s lap. Leaning forward, Minseok plants a kiss to his cheek, then slides off the couch and gets up on his feet.

“I guess I’m going to bed alone then,” the younger mutters, scrunching his nose as he fingers on the hem of his tee.

“I love you,” Minseok says, rewarded with a smile before Jongin reaches out to pat his thigh.

“I love you more, but off you go. Work hard and then hurry back to me.” Jongin leans back onto the support of the couch and Minseok snorts, pressing a second kiss to his face, right between his brows. 

“If it makes you happy to believe that,” Minseok teases before heading off into the bedroom, grabbing his backpack from where it’s buried deep in his closet. 

He listens closely, makes sure Jongin hasn’t followed him into their bedroom before he opens it, makes sure that the gun is still located in one of the small pockets before swinging the bag onto his shoulders, walking back into the living room. He cards his fingers through Jongin’s hair on the way out, the younger already looking sleepy, his head propped up on a pillow and bare feet sticking out over the edge of the couch. 

 

As expected, the hallways are devoid of any sound and light, forcing Minseok to get his flashlight out. There’s an odd sound coming from overhead that Minseok can’t place, but he continues along the length of the floor. The elevator, too, is empty. It’s so strange, because despite Minseok’s many year in the work force, he’s never been alone before. He had Changmin, at first, from when he was first placed there — one person to help him adjust to the idea that not everyone belongs. That not everyone can be allowed to belong. Then Changmin vanished and Jongdae appeared, fresh out of school and Minseok thought for a moment that he’s too good for this, like Jongin is. They deserve better. Those thoughts fade, not quickly, but at some point they disappear. It’s better that way.

Minseok takes his backpack off once he’s on the right floor, takes his filtration mask out and gives himself a reminder to get it changed once he hands Jongdae over. When the door to Jongdae’s home slides open, Minseok expects the same kind of deafening silence to hit him. Instead, Jongdae’s sitting on a sofa identical to the one in Minseok’s square, thick mask strapped to his face and his eyes focused on something in his hand. Stopping right in his step, Minseok stares at him in disbelief just as Jongdae turns his face up.

The thick smell of sugar is already gone by the time the doors close behind Minseok and Jongdae reaches behind himself, loosens the mask so he can speak. 

“I expected as much,” Jongdae admits. Minseok mimics his movements, stiffening at the prospect of having to fight Jongdae. He’s been taught enough to disable someone, but he doesn’t want to knock Jongdae out like that. It’s selfish of him, but he wanted to see Jongdae go peacefully, unaware. 

Jongdae stands up and places what looks like a worn-out book on the couch cushion. Even from this distance, Minseok can see the title spelled out in thick letters: PASS INSTRUCTION MANUAL.

“Minseok,” the younger pleads, and Minseok looks him in the eye, filtration mask still in his hands. “I’ve seen the way we work, and I don’t— I don’t want to die like that, Minseok. In my sleep, without even knowing about it. Give me that, at least. Let me die knowing I at least tried to make a difference.”

“Why should you get special treatment?” Minseok asks, then moves across the room while taking his backpack off, sinking to his knees next to Jongdae before beginning to look through his bag for the needle and solution he needs to put Jongdae to sleep. “If you’re going to fight this, Jongdae, then I…” He gets his hands on the plastic bag, prepares to fill the needle with enough of a dosage to slow Jongdae’s heart beat.

“I get it,” Jongdae murmurs. “You’ve been a pretty great partner, despite all of…” He makes a sweeping gesture towards the space between them. Minseok’s not sure if he’s referring to the fact that Minseok didn’t defy orders for him, or the System itself. “...This.”

The next second, the side of Jongdae’s foot collides with Minseok’s knee, sending him tumbling back against the floor. Minseok groans, Jongdae’s knees pressing into his thighs and his hand gripping Minseok’s wrist, struggling to angle the needle away from himself. Before Jongdae has a chance to get a hold of his second hand, Minseok reaches over to pinch the skin below his thumb with his fingers, causing Jongdae to curse and let go. Minseok’s fist connects with his cheek, sending Jongdae to the side with a pained whine. 

Minseok secures Jongdae’s hands above his head, the younger gasping for air below him. Scrambling to get to the gun, Minseok makes sure he has a proper grip on Jongdae’s wrists before getting a hold of the weapon, pressing it against the younger’s temple. It dawns on him how many years it’s been since he was last in this situation — he’d been so young, had never fully realized exactly what he’d done. He’s scared.

The gun clicks and Jongdae’s eyes roll back.

There’s a burst of coughs that follow, Minseok leaning back as Jongdae’s lips become coated in blood, his entire body jerking and the elder holds him down, staring at the younger’s face in confusion. Jongdae’s still breathing, struggling beneath Minseok’s grip and the the elder finally lets him go, Jongdae rolling away from him and clutching at his chest. 

Minseok draws himself out of his temporarily paralysis. His bewilderment is evident on his face as he works the gun open, sees the crunched paper stuck inside it where the bullet is supposed to be and he fishes it out as Jongdae calms down besides him, as if Minseok had not just been intent on killing him. He doesn’t realize it’s a sob ripping out of his throat until Jongdae looks at him with wide eyes, glancing at the photo in Minseok’s hand and then he’s smiling.

“Oh,” Jongdae whispers weakly. “Jongin.”

Because no one but Jongin could have found that gun, taken the bullet out and left that photo there. It’s years old, from when Minseok and Jongin first moved in together, the younger smiling brightly at the camera with Minseok’s lips pressed to his cheek, the colors faded from time.

“Guess I’m not meant to die,” Jongdae adds, even if Minseok hasn’t responded. “Yet.”  
He digs his fingers into Minseok’s arm, forces the older to look at him. “You know, don’t you? The severity of what I told you?”

Minseok nods and Jongdae sighs in return, throws a look at the gun again. “Before this… It’s not common knowledge, obviously, but I might have done some sneaking around.” Has he always been this reckless? When he looks back at their time together, he contemplates on whether he would have Jongdae get off with so much if they had worked together as rookies. He’s turned a blind eye to Jongdae all along. 

“There’s this… Purification Beta System. Like the Alpha system, but smaller. Not as good. It’s not in use anymore, but at first it was supposed to be cleaned up so that the higher-ups could reopen an abandoned section of the living quarters.

There’s an entire upper floor we didn’t know about… Because the elevator doesn’t go there. They completely reconnected it. It was active when the first generation came to the Inside, but it completely shut down after the Beta system became understaffed. And now that our population is expected to grow again… We need that space. But before, when the system shut down.. The entire population living in those quarters become poisoned by the gradually rising amount of toxins in the air.” Jongdae gives him a pointed look, opting for a pause to let the information sink in.

Minseok finally understands.

“The understaffed Pass, the increase in our anti-toxins pill doses, the increased amount of work… They’re not coincidences. It’s happening all over again. They have been putting so much effort into restoring the Purification Beta System that the actual Alpha system’s life span suffered from it. Neither of them can take any more. That’s why Junmyeon got sick, because he was around the Beta system so often and all of the unfiltered toxins. And now the Alpha system is shutting down before Beta is even fixed.” 

“Minseok, when I left my shift at the Pass this morning, I already knew. Junmyeon was beginning to figure it out too. It won’t last another week. The protection mechanisms are going to kick in any fucking minute. Do you get it? Complete lockdown, no way to get anywhere, no way to contact anyone properly.” Jongdae manages to push himself up, his hand finding a grip on the collar of Minseok’s uniform and his fingers tighten until there’s a strain on the elder’s neck. 

“You’re not dumb. Either you go alone and you make it alive, or you stay behind and die. The garden dome, it can host a few people for a while with the back-up Pass system running through it. I bet it could function another month on its own… That’s long enough to figure something out, maybe.”

“I need to get Jongin,” Minseok’s eyes tear from the photo, Jongdae’s grip still tight on his arm. His hands are quivering even though he’s trying to collect himself, to stay calm. “I can’t— not without him, Jongdae. I couldn’t leave without him.”

The younger lets go of him, leans back against the floor with red lips and red hands and red eyes and acknowledges the fact that from then on, they’re both dead. “Goodbye, Minseok,” he murmurs.

“You’re not going?” Minseok asks, stuffing his equipment back in his bag, his job forgotten with Jongdae lying so weakly next to him, Jongin waiting at home, unaware and innocent.

“I don’t think I can, like this.” Despite his tone, Jongdae grins feebly at him. ”Toxins, they got me too, got me good.” Somehow, Jongdae seems to find it in him to laugh. Barely a few seconds later, the blaring alarm goes off, repeated high-pitched noise that rips through the entire Inside. “It’s fine, Minseok. We did what we could. We didn’t stand a chance to begin with.”

Minseok rushes to the door, forces himself not to look back a second time, leaves with the image of Jongdae whimpering in frustration on the floor.

When he runs, he can hear people banging on the doors, and he wishes he could stop and unlock them, but there’s no time. They don’t have special access, can’t leave their squares past curfew unless a higher-up temporarily unlocks the restrictions put on their doors. But Minseok can. 

Minseok thinks back to the offer he received just a few weeks ago, promising him and Jongin a larger square because of their excellent service. They weren’t promised a date, but Minseok imagines living on a floor where people died locked inside their homes. He feels sick to his stomach.

The elevator moves so slowly that Minseok has time to contemplate going back — he’s strong enough to carry Jongdae. He should have taken him with him.

Minseok hurriedly types in the code, fails once because he’s going to fast and makes himself enter the door’s password slowly, the door gliding open as the warning noise keeps pushing him around like a ragdoll. Jongin’s up and pacing around the room, his head jerking up the moment Minseok’s back inside. 

“What’s happening?” Jongin asks, and Minseok’s pulling him towards the door before he has time to give an answer. For a moment Minseok panics, wonders what he’ll do if the doors refuse to open despite his access — instant relief washes over him as the locks give way and he’s able to step out into the hallway, the lights still shut off. 

“Just trust me, Jongin. We need to run, right now. I’ll explain later, right now, just run.” 

Minseok’s body is aching already, relieved that he can take take the stairs to the lowers floors. The elevator is reserved for higher floors, restricted ones, a room waiting for him and Jongin on the same floor as Jongdae’s. Another two weeks and it would have been theirs. Now, Jongin follows behind him closely, the sound of people yelling dying as they move into the separate stair section. 

The garden dome is at the lowest floor, the last one to shut down during a lockdown. If they hurry, they’ll get there in time. They have to.

Jongin’s face is flushed as he makes a grab for Minseok’s hand, their fingers entwining as they make it onto the second lowest floor. Just another one, Minseok begs. Come on, come on, come on. 

Everything looks the same, with white walls and grey stairs that rustle beneath their weight and creak dangerously the faster they go. Minseok can’t say which one is worse: the silence that had been right before chaos, or the unyielding sound of voices penetrating the walls, almost completely drowned by the warning signal that is still going off. He tries to convince himself that the sounds are good — whenever another floor is put on lockdown, the siren on that floor will stop. It’s the dead air he should worry about.

The lights are still lit on the lowest floor.

“Just a little bit longer! Jongin, please, please. We need to go faster!” Despite the fact that Jongin doesn’t understand, he keeps running, and Minseok is so fucking grateful. They sprint through the entrance to the garden dome’s locker rooms, passing through them in a hurry to get to the larger doors that lead directly into the vegetation. It feels like the building is shaking beneath Minseok’s feet and he nearly falls over once he has punched the passcode into the security system and the garden dome spreads out before them. 

Jongin is breathing heavily next to him, dropping to the ground and his face is flushed, panting heavily. It’s not until Minseok has caught his breath, muscles aching with the strain of running, that he realizes the alarm can’t be heard. There’s nothing.

“Minseok,” Jongin gasps, still clutching his husband’s hand. “I don’t understand. What is— what was that? Why are we here?”

Minseok buries his face in his hand, thinks of Jongdae, of the people locked inside their rooms, cut off from the filtration system, from all communication.

“It’s a complete lockdown,” he finally gets out. “The Pass system broke. Jongdae told me, when I went to see him. That’s how I made it in time. He told me… That we might have some more time, if we stay in the garden dome. We can’t get out, but there’s a back-up filtration system here.”

Jongin shifts, angling himself towards Minseok, his free hand wiping the sweat off his face. “Jongdae? Why were you with Jongdae?” He looks at Minseok with a puzzled expression, the elder’s hand coming up to cup his face.

“I’ll tell you everything, but not now. I just have to make sure that we can… That we can stay somewhere here. Then I’ll tell you why.” Minseok didn’t think he’d ever tell Jongin, but there won’t be anything left soon enough. No system. It’s shutting down. Just like Jongdae said.

Minseok’s grateful to find one of the Pass systems nearby, but when he tries to access it there’s no response. He’d hoped he would have been able to unlock the lower floor at least, but with the Alpha Purification System out of function, he figures that his hopes were useless.

“There’s nothing we can do?” Jongin asks and Minseok shakes his head, watches the look on Jongin’s face fall and he pulls him into his arms, kisses Jongin just to feel him. It’s a brief kiss, more for reassurance than anything. Jongin stares back at him, cheeks flushed red from running and eyes dark. _He’s scared,_ Minseok realizes. Of course he is, that’s only logical. 

Minseok wonders when that fear will hit him, or if it has already passed. If he got his dose when he meant to kill Jongdae.

Hours pass and there’s nothing, only the buzz of what Minseok suspects is the backup system and Jongin’s soft voice right next to his ear. They’re curled up on the jacket that had been stuffed into Minseok’s bag, Jongin’s head on the elder’s shoulder and Minseok knows he’s minutes from sleep.

 _Tomorrow,_ he thinks. _We’ll make it to tomorrow._

Minseok begins humming, his voice on the verge of breaking from the yelling and the damage, but he keeps going. Stuttering lyrics he remembers hearing Jongin sing around their home, words that sound so much better rolling off the younger’s tongue. He drags his fingers down the faint curve of Jongin’s cheekbone, kisses the crown of his head before continuing. Jongin murmurs along with him, the sound dying along his path to sleep until only Minseok can be heard. Jongin’s chest heaves weakly, but he’s there. 

Minseok’s ORD goes off with a beep, the elder rushing to open the message.

**Kim Jongdae, 23:05  
You alive?**

**Kim Jongdae, 23:07  
I’m on floor 0.**

**Kim Jongdae, 23:09  
Minseok**

**Kim Minseok, 23:09  
Section C. By the system. Jongin’s asleep.**

**Kim Minseok, 23:10  
Anyone else?**

**Kim Jongdae, 23:11  
No**

“Jongin,” Minseok murmurs, leaning in. Shifting where he’s seated on the ground, Jongin lets out an incoherent reply. “I’m meeting up with Jongdae, I’ll be right back. If you wake up, don’t start walking around to look for me, okay? Just stay here. I won’t take long.” Jongin’s eyes flutter open, dark and worried as he stares back at Minseok. There seems to be a rejection clinging to his lips, but the younger just nods, rests against the tree trunk. 

“If you’re not back within an hour, I’ll come find you.” Jongin finally says, and Minseok figures he could expect no less from him. He can get Jongdae inside within an hour.

**Kim Minseok, 23:19  
Are you by the glass entrance?**

Heading south, Minseok makes sure not to stray from the path meant for gardeners. Even if he knows all the shortcuts, he doesn’t want to risk missing Jongin just because he took his own way to the entrance. It doesn’t take too long to reach the big glass doors, located right next to the dome overview: a touch screen displaying the full garden dome on a digital map, a small circle at the bottom left corner of the map leading to the identification and access options.

Jongdae’s already there, waiting. He looks awful, worse than when Minseok had seen him just earlier. It’s as if something’s eating away at him with exponential speed. The moment Minseok arrives in front of the glass door, Jongdae presses his palm against the thick glass and then raises his arm, tapping the small ORD screen with his finger.

**Kim Jongdae, 23:21  
It’s fucking locked**

**Kim Minseok, 23:21  
I should be able to unlock it**

Minseok puts his hands on the map overview, gains full access and clicks his way into the restriction options, giving permissions for the doors to open. Half a minute goes by without the telltale rustling of grass against glass, no clicking as the doors slide apart.

**Kim Jongdae, 23:27  
Minseok?**

His ORD goes off and Minseok sends a haste reply.

**Kim Minseok, 23:27  
Isnt working im trying**

Minseok tries again, but the screen is flickering and quickly growing unresponsive to his actions.  
** > command denied **  
** > command denied **  
_Come on,_ Minseok begs. _Come on, come on. Fuck! Just work this once!_

**Kim Jongdae, 23:30  
Nothing?**

He doesn’t know what to say, what to do. Jongdae’s still out there, on the other side and even if he’s wearing his filter mask, it’ll break down eventually. It’s already messing with him -- Jongdae has slid down onto the floor, wiping sweat from his forehead. The screen goes black and Minseok’s heart drops.

Jongdae is going to die, even after he decided he didn’t want to.

Minseok walks over to the glass, and he’s on his knees. Jongdae looks right back at him, no fighting spirit left. It’s gone. It’s over. This time, they won’t make it together. Minseok made a decision. Jongdae made a decision. And the consequences are evident. Maybe it would have been easier if Jongdae had started shouting at him, cursing him out for not picking him up, for running away. Instead, the younger presses his palm against the glass again before pulling back, removing the filtration mask from his face.

Jongdae’s hands are shaking.

**Kim Minseok, 23:34  
Don’t do that, Jongdae. We can break the glass, I can get you in.**

Minseok is about to get on his feet, look around for something to crack the doors with, but Jongdae shakes his head. 

**Kim Jongdae, 23:35  
i really want to be selfish**

**Kim Jongdae, 23:36  
dont break the glass its suicide n toxins will get you. no way to stop the flow.**

He can’t save Jongdae. He can’t save him, but he can listen. So Minseok watches Jongdae curl up against the glass, every breath spaced a little further apart. His lips are so red, residue from the blood he’s coughed up. 

**Kim Jongdae, 23:41  
** i feel like shit  
throat clogs up 

Minseok doesn’t want to see another person die -- he’s seen so many people just… fall asleep. Jongdae is now, too. He rushes back over to the blackened screen, slams his palm right against it as if somehow it’ll awaken through brute force. Even after attempting to lurk it back into function by rewiring the back, there’s nothing. The machine clicks three times, making Minseok’s heart race because just maybe it’s restarting. The screen flickers lazily. Once. Twice. It’s not moving fast enough, Jongdae’s still short of dead on the other side of the glass door. 

Minseok could break it so easily, but there would be three dead bodies then, not just one.

**Kim Jongdae, 23:52  
** worry about yourself  
the moment i got a job at pass was the moment i died. think toxins rly fucked us up after some time. 

Minseok can’t tell if this is Jongdae’s last good deed, if he’s somehow trying to make Minseok feel better, when it’s Jongdae that is dying in the midst of filthy air and silence. He was always too good for this world. Crooked enough to survive, but not enough to give in. He’s not like Minseok, who followed along nicely until the end. Minseok’s only goal was Jongin, for Jongin to live happily, live safely. Jongdae was hoping for, fighting for something much bigger than that.

Because of the distance between them, Minseok can’t tell the exact moment that Jongdae dies. One moment, his fingers are still trembling, chest heaving slightly underneath his tee. 

**Kim Jongdae, 00:03  
is this a situation where im supposed say good luck **

 

There’s no follow up message. There’s nothing but Jongdae. For a moment, in his death, Jongdae is immortal in the red of his letters and the blue of his lips. And still, all Minseok can think of is Jongin not too far away, and that he doesn’t want him to see more death, more destruction.

The path back feels shorter, feels incomplete. He wants to rush but his feet are stuck to the ground, the grass clinging to his legs. Jongin’s still asleep, and Minseok falls down next to him, tucks his face into the crook of Jongin’s neck and feels a sob rip through his throat. His fingers fist into the fabric of Jongin’s t-shirt, muscles tensing as he tries not to move, tries to let Jongin have some peaceful sleep. 

He feels so heavy when he closes eyes and leans back against the tree trunk, stays wrapped around Jongin to give him warmth. Jongin shifts against Minseok to accommodate him better, fingertips digging into the elder’s waist with an incoherent murmur. Minseok sighs against him, his muscles feeling relaxed, thoughts thick and clumsy. 

Minseok can’t count time from where he is, the ORD dying with an exasperated, drawn-out beep. He rips it off his wrist, hurling it away from himself. It won’t do any good now. Minseok can’t count time, but he can hear the world ending around him, he can see it. It’s peaceful, slow.

Above him, the sky that Minseok had found so much comfort in, goes out last. The connected panels flicker one by one, clicking loudly before going black. There’s no order to it, and with his vision unhelpfully blurry at the edges, Minseok watches the last square crack and darken. What remains is only the fading light of lamps strategically placed out all over the Garden Dome. 

_I bet it could function long enough for you to figure something out._

The breath on Minseok’s tongue is shaky. He tastes rust, but he doesn’t want to wipe the taste off on his hand. Ignorance is so blissful. With Jongin next to him, it’s so _easy_ to pretend. He attempts to speak up, but he can’t form any words. There’s nothing for Jongin to hear, nothing Minseok can give him except for the rustling of the Garden Dome. The buzz of the purification system and what sounds like the clash of metal. He’s too tired.

Minseok is breathless and terrified, in love and, for a brief moment, untouchable.

**Author's Note:**

> contact via [my twitter](https://twitter.com/jeongau) or [my curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/jeongau) or [my tumblr](https://jeong4vr.tumblr.com/) ♡


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